Superstitions
by BleedingCrimson
Summary: Ashton Hadley and Alin Semloh are ordinary people who enjoy their work. They are thrown into a case of serial murders and only the modus operandi links the victims. Sherlock Holmes is on the Case, and their expertise will either condemn or save them. OCs.
1. Chapter Prologue

_**Disclaimer:** We don't own Sherlock, BBC or Otherwise... this is just product of our Imagination that we have decided to share with whoever wants to read this. Feel free to flame but if you do please flame appropriately, no bad grammar or superfluous cussing and actually have a problem with it (who knows, it might be fixed- especially if you find a typo or any bad grammar, we hate those just as much as you do), don't flame just to flame…save yourself the time and embarrassment please. Thank you. - Bleeding Crimson Editor_

_Prologue_

A tired hand rubbed an equally tired wrist. A sigh escaped from the aching head above. The figure's eyes were nearly clouded with sleep, wishing to simply close and not wake up... at least for a while.

"No, must continue." The figure shook her head. Some of her hair escaped the pins that held it together and out of her face. She brushed the wisps behind her ear and began typing again.

"Are you alright? I mean, it only happened a week ago..."

She squinted her eyes so she could see the man in the doorway silhouetted by the light in hallway. Previously only the faint blue glow from the computer screen illuminated the room. Now the yellowy brightness from outside the room lit the keyboard that she had previously been clacking away on.

"I'm fine." Her voice was like steel- cold and hard. She couldn't think about it too much; she wouldn't let herself.

"Let me finish this, and I will let you see it. You know it as well as I do in any case."

"You're very talkative, it seems."

"Oh? Well, do not mind me. I am only a little preoccupied..."

"Alright then, I'll leave you to it. But please, tell me if there is anything I can do." The man stood awkwardly for a few seconds more, his hands fidgeting, before he turned and made to shut the door. He paused just before it closed all the way and said into the dark room,

"It could have happened to anybody, you know..." he paused, trying to determine if he should speak again or not.

"Have dinner with us tonight. I'll cook. It's bad luck to go for so long without a break anyway." It was a split-second decision but, he thought, a good one. Even if he couldn't help her much, he could at least do this. A long silence colored the next minute before the woman heaved another sigh and ran her hand through her hair.

"Liar. There is no such thing, but I will come in a couple of hours. Is six alright?"

"Yes, and no-"

"I _will_ drive myself there. I am not out to kill myself because of this, no matter what he thinks."


	2. Chapter I

_**Disclaimer:** We don't own Sherlock, BBC or Otherwise... this is just product of our Imagination that we have decided to share with whoever wants to read this. Feel free to flame but if you do please flame appropriately, no bad grammar or superfluous cussing and actually have a problem with it (who knows, it might be fixed- especially if you find a typo or any bad grammar, we hate those just as much as you do), don't flame just to flame…save yourself the time and embarrassment please. Thank you. - Bleeding Crimson Editor_

_Chapter One_

"_Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,_

_Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,_

_While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,_

_As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door._

' '_Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door -_

_Only this, and nothing more.' "_

A low and murmuring voice could be barely heard over the heavy rain that pitter-pattered on the window. This window led into the old house behind the old bookshop in the old lot that nonetheless was well groomed. The living room that the old window led directly into was currently occupied by two women. The younger was reciting from Poe's most well known poem, finding the night rain to be a perfect mood-setter, especially as the fire cast an eerie glow over her face and the black-inked words on the pristine, white pages in front of her.

"Isn't there some superstition or other about telling creepy stories on a rainy night?" The elder of the two asked, poking fun at her dark-haired friend.

"Of course not," her shorter companion said. _That__would__be__silly,_ she continued in her thoughts in a dry, sarcastic tone. She was younger by a couple of years (only three as she would insist on mentioning), but everyone assumed that it was the other way around.

"Yes, yes, of course." The first said, waving her hand about her face as if to shoo away a stray thought of amusement at her friend's words.

"Of course..." The dryness of the humor in the statement just about fed the ever-crackling fire in the room. Neither woman moved from her respective perch on her respective chair. Their laziness was, in part, due to the rain, though it was mostly the fault of the duo's natural tendency to dislike putting forth much effort. Unless, of course, the consequences were deemed as 'worth it.'

"Alin, I'm bored. Do something interesting!" The elder grumbled, letting herself fall back in her plush recliner, sinking much too far into the cushion for Alin to be comfortable ever sitting in that devil-chair. It near-swallowed her up, it did!

"And you wish me to do what, my dear Ash?" Alin raised a dark eyebrow, glancing over her steel grey, wire-rimmed reading glasses to look the other in the forehead, as Ashton (or Ash as she preferred) had her eyes closed.

"If you wish me to do anything amusing, would it not help to _see_ it?" That dry voice of Alin's spoke again, in more of a sort of exasperated sigh than anything. _She__does__this__every__time,__it__seems;__she__asks__me__to__do__something__then__disregards__it__entirely.__But__that__is__not__true,__nor__is__it__fair__to__her..._ Alin looked back up at Ash from her musing in time to hear the other speak.

"Yes, it would." Ash didn't open her eyes, content to simply listen to the fire crackle and the rain tintinnabulation and the slow sound of a page being turned.

"Sometimes I think that we would do better, much better, if we had a bit of excitement in our lives," she continued. "Even if it were only for a little while, I'd like to be the one living the adventure, not just writing it."

"Hn," Alin hummed her distracted agreement. Change would be nice, but Alin was such a passive person that she didn't really mind either way. _Though__sometimes,__that__omen__of__change__can__be__for__the__worse.__Change__is__a__volatile__thing,__a__two-sided__blade__that__can__easily__be__turned__to__something__bad.__However,__it__could__be__for__the__better...__but__I__doubt__it.__It__rarely__is._

"Be careful what you wish for. It might just come true, and then where would we be?" Alin's tone was somewhat amused at her elder's antics, but the admonishment was clear. The younger was used to reminding the other about such things; superstition did run rampant in that house of theirs after all, or at least it seemed that way.

Alin looked towards the clock above the hearth and saw that it was almost 11 o' clock. She glanced back down at her book and, wishing she could read longer, she slipped a hand-carved bookmark into place and stood.

"Come on, Ashton, it is late. Time to sleep." Alin yawned, surprised at how tired she actually was.

"I don't want to sleep, its so... useless!" Alin gave her friend a baleful look, promising a very annoyed twenty-four-year-old if Ash were to continue to resist doing what was needed. Ash sighed, but with a hint of laughter in it.

"Ah, very well, if I must."

"Do not be so dramatic; you will be fine." Alin couldn't help but smile a little at her friend's antics. It was heartening to see her companion like this. _Ash__is__in__an__uncharacteristically__good__mood,_Alin thought to herself._I__hope__it__lasts,__I__prefer__it__to__her__black__moods__at__least._

Ash grinned back but knew not to test her friend's patience. '_Never__keep__Alin__from__sleep__or__food,__'_ as the elder had found out the hard way...

As the two went up the stairs toward their respective rooms, Alin playfully shook her finger at Ash and said, "Remember..." with a look that said the rest. Ash nodded, determined not to forget what she was supposed to remember... and usually forgot anyway.

"Night, Alin."

"Good night. Make sure to sleep well tonight because we will have a long day at the store tomorrow," the other said with a smirk. Ash shook her head and closed the door, leaving the hallway still and dark as Alin made her way to her room.

_Simply the usual in our near-empty house in the near-empty lot behind a full-to-the-brim bookstore that sits on the street, no? Only the usual; maybe change would not be such a burden this time..._


	3. Chapter II

_**Disclaimer:** We don't own Sherlock, BBC or Otherwise... this is just product of our Imagination that we have decided to share with whoever wants to read this. Feel free to flame but if you do please flame appropriately, no bad grammar or superfluous cussing and actually have a problem with it (who knows, it might be fixed- especially if you find a typo or any bad grammar, we hate those just as much as you do), don't flame just to flame…save yourself the time and embarrassment please. Thank you. - Bleeding Crimson Editor_

_Chapter Two_

"That'll be £15.09, please," Ash told a customer at the cash register in the bookstore end of the shop, the smell of petrichor fresh in the air that wafted from outside. It always reminded her living in the country as a child, lying in the fields after the first rain and breathing in the scent of freshly-watered earth. She saluted to Alin, who was busy serving patrons in their café on the other side of the building. Alin nodded back, too busy taking someone's order to acknowledge her more openly. _I__wonder__if__Ash__sees__who__just__walked__in.__She__usually__does__not__pay__too__much__attention__to__those__sorts__of__things,__so__I__will__not__be__surprised__if__she,__as__those__across__the__pond__might__say,__flips__her__lid._

Ash smiled and thanked the lady standing across the counter from her as she handed her the change and her purchase. The brunette began arranging some books on the shelf behind her. She sang softly,

"_Now let the song begin! Let us sing together_

_Of sun, stars, moon, and mist, rain and cloudy weather,_

_Light on the budding leaf, dew on the feather,_

_Wind on the open hill, bells on the heather,_

_Reeds by the shady pool, lilies on the water:_

_Old Tom Bombadil and the River-daughter!"_

"What's that from?"

"Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring," Ash answered absently. Suddenly, the realization of who had just spoken dawned on her. She spun around and gasped in delight, her face lighting up with rapture. "Uncle!"

"Morning, Sugar Plum," a blond man in his mid-thirties greeted. The addressee smiled and crawled clumsily under the counter top. Chuckling under his breath, the male helped his friend up. Ash kissed him lightly on the cheek and embraced him tightly.

"You could have just lifted up the counter top, you know."

"Eh," Ash replied dismissively, her voice muffled in his jacket, "that requires too much work."

"And how is that?"

"Well, my dearest Uncle," she replied calmly as if this were common knowledge, "I would have had to take the time to unlatch the thing-a-ma-jig, lift up the wood top, _then_go through and finally take the time to make sure that it doesn't fall back down and either hurt me or make a loud noise (because loud noises annoy Alin). Therefore, it is less time-consuming to crawl under the counter. Sometimes I like to vary it up a little and swing over it, but that's only if I have enough energy."

Ash pulled back and smiled triumphantly before hugging him again. He stroked the young woman's wavy brown hair and kissed the top of her head. How he had missed her so!

"So, Uncle-"

"How many times have I told you to call me _John_? 'Uncle' just makes me feel old. We're not even related."

"Real names are so... _impersonal_. Especially _'__John_.' I mean, even if you are only one in a million, that's still about six thousand people that are just like you in this overpopulated world. At least _'__Watson__'_ is a little more special, but still..."

"That may be, but there are so many more uncles in this world then there are Johns or Watsons."

"I suppose..." She pursed her lips for a moment as if considering it, then turned back to Uncle John again. "But any-who, how are you?"

"Fine, though this shoulder of mine is giving me trouble as usual." He rubbed his left shoulder absently through the fabric of his shirt and coat. "Though not as much trouble as my partner causes."

He rolled his eyes as he continued speaking, "That man, genius he may be, but he is lacking in social graces entirely."

"Yes, but is he _interesting_?" The brunette prodded. She couldn't imagine her uncle living with a boring person. He attracted odd people like the Paris Opera Populaire attracted phans.

"Yes," He conceded, "he is interesting enough, I suppose, though he has absolutely no care for the people around him! Infuriating! He is a detective and solves crimes but only because of the mental stimulation it provides him, not because he cares about people. Bloody hell, I don't think he even _likes_ most people..." John Watson sighed and ran a hand though his hair before shaking his head.

"Anyway, how've you been?"

"Oh, fine, I suppose," she said airily. "The store's been running smoothly. Alin and I have been restoring more books than ever. I guess word's gotten round that we're pretty good at it. Alin's carvings have been selling as have my paintings and drawings and whatnot. I've had some writer's block, though, but that's only temporary. _Uhm_... Oh! and Alin and I have been getting along as splendidly as ever. We've been careful never to wash our hands in the same sink."

Seeing her uncle's confused look, she added, "If two friends wash their hands in the same stream of water, they're likely to have a quarrel."

"I see... Well, I'm glad to hear that you have been doing well for yourself. You seem to be in a great mood."

"Yeah. I don't know why, but I feel like something extraordinary should happen. Like in a book, you know? I should ask Alin what signs to look for that for tell something grand is about to take place. Speaking of that lovely woman... _Alin!__Get__your__butt__over__here__and__say__hi__to__Uncle__John!_"

Alin looked over from her current task of putting together someone's order of a 'cappuccino with extra whip, non-fat cream with one and a half-shots of espresso and extra foam.' _Troublesome.__It__is__not__as__if__I__do__not__know__what__they__are__talking__about.__It__is__not__hard__to__hear__them__over__the__sound__of__small__talk__in__the__corner__over__there__in__the__corner._

After finishing that tall order,_It__would__be__rather__annoying__if__i__had__to__ring__up__their__check__now.__I__'__m__glad__I__made__them__pay__first__while__I__'__m__taking__orders,_ she wiped her hands on a towel that she wore over her shoulder. Making her way across the store, she wore her usual deadpan look, though it had a hint of annoyance. Loud noises were never very welcome in her books, and Ashton yelling was indeed a loud noise.

"Yes, I see him." Alin's look implied that if there had been any more customers to take care of, John, and Ash, would simply have had to wait for her to be done for her attention. Alin held her hand out for John to shake, which he took, but she offered no further conversation.

"I know you've met her before, but this is Alin. Alin, this is my Uncle John Watson. Well, to most people he's Doctor John Watson, but not to me. He's come back from Afghanistan a little while ago. And on that note," Ash turned on John, "why haven't you come to visit earlier? You've already been back for two-and-a-half months! I can count the times I've seen you since you've come back on one hand, and you've only visited the store twice! _Ever_!"

"Yes, well, I've been busy. I've written it all on my blog. I've been involved with my flat-mate's cases. Helping him out as it were..."

"Ash, if he had the time he would have come." Alin broke in, her low and calm voice seemingly gentle, not wanting to bother with an argument between her friend and her friend's "relative."

"Feel free to roam and browse." She threw her towel over her shoulder as she began to walk back to the café, hearing a boisterous group enter and look about for the barista. Alin walked behind the counter and proceeded to make the group regulars their order after making sure that they hadn't changed their minds as they were sometimes wont to do.

"Yeah, feel free. Actually if you want to follow me I'm currently restoring a book. I think it'd interest you."

She led John into the dark back room the girls had dedicated to restoration work. The musty smell caused John to cough, and the darkness overwhelmed him for a few moments. When his eyes adjusted, the blond gasped at the sheer amount of books. Volumes and volumes of books sat neatly on shelves or in boxes, though several were stacked haphazardly in piles beside the tables that Alin and Ash used for their work. Ash retrieved a stool for John to sit on, but he declined. John watched, fascinated, as she carefully used her tools to slowly transform a rotting stack of paper into a beautiful novel.

The mess of brittle papers that belonged to the same book were meticulously mended, straightened and rebound in a newly constructed spine. For this specific book Ash remounted the existing cover onto a new book casing, keeping the original embellishments and gold foil. The new cover was the same shade of brown leather as the book was originally and had been made into a hardback. She proceeded to touch up some of the illumination and illustrations in the text. Her meticulous brushwork astonished him. Before they knew it, Alin poked her head in and asked,

"Ash, how are you doing in there?"

"Fine, fine. I've gotten a lot done on this one, actually. Binding, pages, gold leaf, touching up illustrations, the works. 'Ow are ye?"

"I just closed up shop." Alin studied Ash closely. "Have you eaten dinner yet?"

Ash bit her lip in thought. "Ummm... I can't seem to remember when I ate-"

"I am making dinner tonight. You too, Doctor."

"Yes! C'mon, Uncle! Have dinner with us, on the house." And with that, Ash linked her arm with his and led him across the lot to the women's house just across the lot.


	4. Chapter III

_**Disclaimer:** We don't own Sherlock, BBC or Otherwise... this is just product of our Imagination that we have decided to share with whoever wants to read this. Feel free to flame but if you do please flame appropriately, no bad grammar or superfluous cussing and actually have a problem with it (who knows, it might be fixed- especially if you find a typo or any bad grammar, we hate those just as much as you do), don't flame just to flame…save yourself the time and embarrassment please. Thank you. - Bleeding Crimson Editor_

_Chapter Three _

After fetching the two from the restoring room under the bookstore, Alin led the way to the main house where she and Ash slept and ate and did all their odd hobbies during any free time. The food- pasta with cream sauce and lightly grilled salmon with rosemary and lemon sauce- had already been prepared and set out on the table, still steaming in their respective containers. A bottle of red wine sat next to the spread. Places had been set for three- nothing fancy but enough so that one could tell quite easily that it had all been prepared for an extra and not the usual two.

"I see you were expecting company." John chortled lightly.

"No." Alin deadpanned, as usual. _Now__that__I__think__about__it,__I__never__really__make__much__of__a__variety__of__expressions.__It__just__does__not__suit__me__very__well__I__suppose.__My__deadpan__face__and__my__usual__smirk__and__it__seems__to__get__me__upper__hand__well__enough.__I__wonder__if__anyone__thinks__that__I__am__simply__incapable__of__showing__emotion.__That__would__be__entertaining._

"Oh, well then," he trailed off, not entirely sure if he should take a seat or wait for Alin, as she was obviously the leader in this house, not to mention that she and Ash were young ladies.

"C'mon, what're you waiting for?" Ash questioned quietly and light-heartedly as she settled herself on the nearest seat, leaving the head and foot of the table open. Alin took the head and scooped up some of the tripoline in cream sauce and a salmon fillet. Her glass was filled about half-way with the rich Italian wine. She nodded her assent to John, who only watched Ash sporadically spoon small portions onto her plate.

"You can eat, you know," Ash prodded without looking up. After she sipped a glass of milk, she continued, "Alin's the only one who eats _consistently_ around here. We don't want any of this good meal to spoil now, would we?"

John smiled and dished himself up. The silence seemed a little awkward to John, but from what he observed, it seemed to be fairly normal. Mid-way through the meal, Ash looked up and asked,

"So, Uncle, tell me more about how things are going with you. What's this about your flat-mate being a detective? I haven't had time to peruse your blog."

Alin's look said, '_You__'__ve__had__plenty__of__time__to__read__it.__You__'__ve__just__been__too__lazy__to__and__are__trying__to__find__a__good__excuse.__'_

"Shut up, Alin."

"She didn't even say anything."

Ash huffed, "Oh _yes,_she did. Alin can say _everything_ without saying _anything_! I don't know how you do it."

"A gift," Alin countered, with a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Ash rolled her eyes and promptly returned to the small portions of food in front of her. Alin dished another spoonful of pasta onto Ash's plate, giving her a look that brooked no argument. _She__will__eat__at__least__one__full__meal__a__day__if__I__have__anything__to__say__about__it._

"So, um, I see that you two are accustomed to each other by now..." John ventured, his voice suggesting that he still felt slightly awkward.

"Yes." Alin replied at the same time that Ash said,

"Mmhmm. We're perfect foils for each other, as we say in literary lexicon. She makes sure that I eat, sleep, and all that other boring stuff I hate to do or am wont to forget, and I keep her company and help manage the store. But enough about _us_, John! You always do this to me. I want to hear about _your_ life, and instead I end up telling you all about _mine_! So tell us-"

John's phone vibrated in his pocket. Smiling apologetically, he opened his cell and read the text. He sighed exasperatedly and typed in a reply.

"I'm sorry, girls," he said. "That was my flat-mate. Apparently there's some 'trouble' he needs me to help him resolve."

"Trouble? What kind of trouble? Anything we can help you with?" Ash asked in friendly concern.

John seemed about to roll his eyes. "With him, it could be anything from solving a string of serial murders to buying a carton of milk. For being so incredibly bright, he can be astonishingly absentminded sometimes."

"Like someone else we know," Alin muttered. Ash shot her a teasing, dark look.

"I hate you, Alin."

"Ash! Mind your tongue. That wasn't nice!" John chastised while Alin answered simultaneously,

"Love you, too."

"Uncle Dearest, you needn't pay mind to any of our banter," Ash informed him as she escorted him out. The door closed, cutting off whatever else the brunette might have said. Alin watched them from the dining room window, _"__I__like__him.__He__is__good__for__her,__I__think.__"_


	5. Chapter IV

_**Disclaimer:** We don't own Sherlock, BBC or Otherwise... this is just product of our Imagination that we have decided to share with whoever wants to read this. Feel free to flame but if you do please flame appropriately, no bad grammar or superfluous cussing and actually have a problem with it (who knows, it might be fixed- especially if you find a typo or any bad grammar, we hate those just as much as you do), don't flame just to flame…save yourself the time and embarrassment please. Thank you. - Bleeding Crimson Editor_

_Chapter Four_

Watson entered 221 B Baker Street feeling pleasantly full and contented from his visit. _It__'__s__always__such__a__pleasure__spending__time__with__Ash,_he thought._I__really__ought__to__visit__her__more__often.__She__deserves__more__time__and__attention__than__I__give__her.__She__seems__to__be__getting__along__just__fine__with__Alin,__but__I__feel__guilty__for__not__supporting__her__as__much__as__I__know__she__wants__her__older__brother__to._

"Been having fun, have we?" a gravelly voice asked boredly from the cluttered living room.

"As a matter of fact, I have," Watson answered almost defiantly, but lightly enough to show that he wasn't _really_ insulted by the other's tone as he removed his jacket and threw it onto the coat-rack. "I was visiting my god-sister and her flat-mate at their place. We-"

"Enough idle chatter. I have something more important to discuss."

Watson waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming. After several moments of silence, he asked, "_Well_, Sherlock?"

" 'Well,' what?"

"Aren't you going to tell me what we 'urgently' need to discuss?"

Sherlock motioned to the newspaper on the table, and Watson picked it up. "Page 6. Top article."

"Holmes, you had me come all the way back here to read the paper?" He huffed, but began perusing the paper anyway. After Watson scanned the article, he pondered the facts.

'_String__of__murders,__all__victims__young__women.__Bodies__found__face__down__on__a__red__circle__that__seemed__to__be__a__pentagram__of__some__sort.__All__cut__on__the__arms,__from__elbow__to__wrists,__either__after__or__close__to__death.__Killed__via__blunt-force__trauma.__Killer__nowhere__in__sight.__Police__baffled.__'_

"Police baffled, eh? Did they come to you?"

"Of course. They're too incompetent to solve this on their own." Sherlock smirked as he was wont to do. Watson exhaled in exasperation. Some things never seemed to change with Sherlock.

"What are you planning on doing?"

"We're going to go down to see the latest victim."

"Alright then," John replied. Sherlock already had his coat and scarf on when the blond had entered and, from what Watson could tell, he was impatient to get going. Apparently the unusualness of the case already had him excited.

"Hop to it, John; the game is afoot." A gleam entered the man's eye, and Watson was quick to grab his coat. He raced after his flat-mate out the door and into the cab the man had hailed in record time. The vehicle sped through the city, passing numerous lights and buildings that flew at (seemingly) light speed by the cab window, until they reached an abandoned, burnt out building.

The two exited the cab. Sherlock left John to pay, as he was in a hurry to leave and see the scene for himself, and crossed the police line. Sergeant Donovan rolled her eyes at their approach and muttered under her breath, most likely her favorite word concerning the peculiar detective-'freak.' John nodded politely to her and the other police while Sherlock simply bounded past them into the rubble. Upon entering, John's eyes widened in shock and horror.

"Is all of this blood?" No one answered.

The room was on the small side and the walls were a color that suggested that it might have been something other than charred brown at a previous point in time. The carpet was well-worn, even more so in certain places in the room, creating small pathways throughout. All in all it was a normal room, if a bit lacking in decorative mementos and knick-knacks that give rooms personality of any sort. Well, it would have been if there hadn't been a body lying on the floor, pulse-less and breathless. That and the extraordinary amount of blood on the walls but not on the floor.

A large portion of the wooden floor had been painted over with a red pentagram that was, surprisingly, not blood. It was some kind of powder-turned-to-paste, too bright to be anything that Watson could place right away. However, blood did adorn the walls in such a way that it looked like someone had actually taken a paintbrush and strewn there peculiar designs of odd looking figures that John couldn't place even if he tried. What wasn't holding a design usually had a layer of blood splashed around on it. Spattered all over.

Even if he was a hardened war doctor, sometimes things were a bit too much. This wasn't just carnage that he could deal with. This was planned out to the 't' and was nothing more than senseless gore. Or worse, it _did_ have a purpose, and nothing involving a dead person and this much blood could be for the benefit of humanity.

The body lay spread eagle over the morbid design, or at least it had before it was moved, much to Sherlock's annoyance. Forensics had already been though and 'thoroughly mucked up any evidence' that might have been there, according to Sherlock.

"My God..." Watson whispered under his breath. He turned to Sherlock, who was busy studying the walls. the blond could hardly stand to look at the horrible mess, so he focused his attention on the detective.

"Do you have any idea what these are or what they mean?" He fully expected the dark-haired man to lecture him for his ignorance, but instead only received silence as a reply. Watson frowned.

_That's odd... perhaps he is still putting together facts._

He attempted to take a picture with his phone, but he couldn't get enough light, so he pulled out his notebook and a pen from his inner coat pocket and began transcribing the symbols instead. Perhaps he could get someone to look at these.

"Well, this scene, even though the body has been removed already," Sherlock started, contempt barely hidden for the ones who would intrude on his investigation, "can quite easily dissected for the most part. From what is here, I know that the killer is male, left-handed, and moderately well-dressed - he is picky about how he looks and always neat and proper, at the very least."

Watson blinked in astonishment. _It__baffles__me__how__he__can__pick__up__all__that__from__only__a__glance._

"How do you figure that?" Detective Inspector Lestrade asked, also curious how Sherlock had come to this conclusion. The consulting detective motioned to some almost imperceptible footprints on the floor.

"The size and shape of the shoe prints in the blood and the length and spacing of the steps from each other clearly mark a male. This particular style of shoe is made by New and Lingwood, which is a British company known for its high-end men's shoes. If the wearer is choosy enough to purchase this brand, it follows that he must also have good taste in clothing."

John nodded. _Alright,_he inwardly admitted,_I__can__see__that.__It__makes__sense._ "But what about him being left-handed? Surely the man's shoe choice can't tell you that."

He pointed to the writing on the wall with a raised eyebrow. "There, it's smudged in several places. I'm surprised that you hadn't noticed it, considering you were attempting to draw it. This person's hand has rubbed over the blood runes on the walls. Normally people's hands don't smear their writing because their letters and words are formed to the left of the hand, and writing in English goes from left to right. However, left-handed people form their letters to the right of their hands, so they must drag their hand over their writing, almost always smudging or smearing it in the way it appears on the walls, like so." Sherlock mimicked writing with his left hand in the air, demonstrating his point. He continued, "Even if these aren't in English, it stands to reason that the killer is used to writing left to right and thus did not take the time to reverse his style of writing in order to prevent smudging."

_He__makes__it__look__so__easy,_Watson thought with a hint of envy. _Then__again,__with__all__that__genius,__there__'__s__no__room__left__for__social__graces__or__some__common__sense__or__even__a__handful__of__some__normal__emotions__other__than__boredom__due__to__a__ '__stagnant__mind.__' __I__suppose__it__all__balances__out...__Does__that__make__me__his__conscience?__Wait-__where__did__Sherlock__go?_Watson looked around only to see Sherlock gone. The blond sighed. _I__swear,__every__time-_

"Come now, Watson; we've a young lady to call on." Sherlock tipped his head as if he were doffing a hat and spun abruptly to leave the room, sending his coat into a flurry, fluttering behind him as he briskly walked outside to hail yet another cab. Watson heaved another sigh and, after bidding Detective Inspector Lestrade good day, followed his companion out of the building.


	6. Chapter V

___**Disclaimer:** We don't own Sherlock, BBC or Otherwise... this is just product of our Imagination that we have decided to share with whoever wants to read this. Feel free to flame but if you do please flame appropriately, no bad grammar or superfluous cussing and actually have a problem with it (who knows, it might be fixed- especially if you find a typo or any bad grammar, we hate those just as much as you do), don't flame just to flame…save yourself the time and embarrassment please. Thank you. - Bleeding Crimson Editor___

Chapter Five

"Well, that was unhelpfully inconclusive!" Sherlock exclaimed, annoyed at the fact that the body had already been examined and therefore useless at this point in time.

"I'm surprised that Molly hadn't made sure that they left it alone before you got to it."

"Hn, it _is_ unlike her. Most likely there was another who wanted results faster then we got there."

They exited the cab after it pulled into a spot on Baker Street in front of building 221. Watson paid the driver and followed Sherlock up the stairs._ Has he ever paid the cabbie since he's met me?_ Watson wondered absentmindedly,_ No, I think not._ He frowned slightly as he entered the building behind his flat-mate. Mrs. Hudson met them with a smile as well as a tray of scones and a handful of assorted jams.

"How are you today?" she asked cheerfully as she cleared off part of the untidy table and set the tray down.

"Fine, thank you," Watson replied, taking a scone and spreading apricot jam on it. He was surprised he could even think of eating considering the bloody mess he had witnessed this morning. "You?"

"Oh, deary, thank you for asking. I remember when my nieces use to visit. They don't anymore because their mother, my sister, died a while ago, but they were just as polite as you. Asking how I was all the time very concerned-like."

"Mrs. Hudson! Can a man not think for five minutes in his own rooms without being interrupted by useless chit-chat?"

"Oh! I apologize, Sherlock. Looks like you need a bit of down time to think and unwind. Well then, dearies, I'll be down in the kitchen. I think I'll make some tea. Do you two want any?" She left without waiting for an answer. Mrs. Hudson's voice trailed down after her as she exited the room, echoing down the hall until she reached her destination.

Watson turned around to see Sherlock stalk off to his bedroom, still seething about the incident at the mortuary.

"Nothing left, no evidence that might be useful. Now I must wait! Wait for another to show up. I so _detest _waiting. It leaves room for my mind to stagnate..."

Watson shook his head. At times like these, Sherlock seemed so childish. _Seems like he hates waiting just as much- if not more -than the rest of us. Well, I know what I'll do... _

With that, Watson retrieved his laptop, pulled up his blog, and began to type. Suddenly, a message window popped up. Curious, he clicked on it.

ASH HADLEY: Good evening, Uncle Dearest! How art thou?

His God-sister's language made him smile. He typed in a reply.

J WATSON: Fine, Sugar Plum, though I can't say the same of the man rooming with me.

ASH HADLEY: Oh? What's wrong?

J WATSON: He's sulking because the forensics team mucked up the investigation by moving the body and then tampering with it at the mortuary before we could get there.

ASH HADLEY: I'm sorry :'( I hate it in stories when the evidence is tampered with. So irksome!

J WATSON: Now he's bored.  
>We can't do much else until the next person dies, as horrible as that is.<p>

ASH HADLEY: Oh! So it's a serial murderer, then

J WATSON: Looks like it.

ASH HADLEY: Sounds fascinating and frightening  
>Why don't you ever involve me?<br>You know how much I've always wanted to investigate a real mystery!  
>*pout face*<p>

J WATSON: It's not the same as in the books or movies, you know.

ASH HADLEY: Yes, I know.  
>That's why I want to be involved-<br>to know what REALLY happens

J WATSON: It's dangerous.

ASH HADLEY: Is that code for "I really don't want to get you involved?" ;)

J WATSON: Yes.

ASH HADLEY: Spoil sport! DX

J WATSON: No, simply worried for your health, physical and mental  
>Why would you want to see such a gruesome thing?<br>Besides, with my partner we don't do a whole lot of investigating, mostly it's me following him as he works things out in his head.

ASH HADLEY: I know, and I understand  
>I'm a writer<br>I can't help but be a little curious  
>Haha! I'm sorry that you have to *try* to keep up with him ;)<p>

J WATSON: I suppose not, but still, that curiosity is the same kind that killed that bloody cat.  
>And who said anything about trying? Just because I'm five years his elder doesn't make me old and fat and unable to keep up! Besides, do you know how rigorous the army is, even for a doctor? I think not.<p>

ASH HADLEY: 'Tis true, 'tis true, 'tis pity, and pity 'tis 'tis true

J WATSON: Hamlet? Polonius, right, the 'Oh I am slain' guy?

ASH HADLEY: Haha! Yes, that's him  
>But on to the other part of our conversation,<br>I never said anything about you being "old and fat"

J WATSON: No you simply implied it.

ASH HADLEY: Mind reader XD

J WATSON: So that *was* what you meant! You just admitted to it!

ASH HADLEY: Mayhaps. :P  
>So you said that he works things out in his head<br>What kinds of things?

J WATSON: He sees the things no one does and uses the clues to put everything together  
>He could tell you just about everything about someone other than their name, usually, just by looking at them!<br>It's completely extraordinary!

ASH HADLEY: Sounds "extraordinary!"  
>I should like to meet his chap<br>I'm curious as to what he'd say about me  
>Do you think we'd get along?<br>Or would we rub each other the wrong way?  
>Or both?<br>Can you tell I've had a touch too much chocolate this evening? :P

J WATSON: Yes, yes I can tell...  
>Did you end up sneaking it from the kitchen behind Alin's back? ;)<br>I could possibly persuade him to come to the bookstore.  
>In fact, he might like it there, considering all sorts of interesting things you two sell there.<br>What were the names again? Of the bookstore and café? I've forgotten.

ASH HADLEY: Haha! Yep! ;)  
>Truly, you can read my mind!<br>I guess it's from knowing me so long, huh? ;)  
>The bookstore is called Thirteenth Hour<br>and  
>The café is called Belladonna's Brews<br>How could you have forgotten, old man? You were there his very afternoon?

J WATSON: Alright, see you soon. Perhaps tomorrow or the next day, it depends. I'll call when we can go.  
>The names are lovely, but the cafe, it seems a bit ominous, don't you think, with Socrates and everything...<br>And I'm not old!

ASH HADLEY: Yay! I can't wait! :D  
>If you two want anything to eat or drink from the café, it'll be on the house, but you have to pay for whatever books you want to take home! ;)<br>How long do you think it will take for him to guess the inspiration behind our café's name? ;)  
>Didn't take you too long, so I guess it probably won't take him long, either<br>It's ominous, but only for those nerdy enough to recognize the allusion :P  
>Sorry, my lovely, but I've got to get to bed<p>

J WATSON: Good, it is getting late anyway. I think I'll go to bed soon, too. See you then.

ASH HADLEY: Good night, old-timer. ;)  
>I love you!<br>Hugs!

J WATSON: Good night, Sugar Plum.  
>We'll talk again soon<p>

*J WATSON has signed off*

*ASH HADLEY has signed off*

**A/N: **We like reviews, very much so. They get creative juices flowing. Any comments, questions, concerns are welcome and appreciated, and though we have 'till chapter 11 typed out, any suggestions would rock too!


	7. Chapter VI

_**Disclaimer:** We don't own Sherlock, BBC or Otherwise... this is just product of our Imagination that we have decided to share with whoever wants to read this. Feel free to flame but if you do please flame appropriately, no bad grammar or superfluous cussing and actually have a problem with it (who knows, it might be fixed- especially if you find a typo or any bad grammar, we hate those just as much as you do), don't flame just to flame…save yourself the time and embarrassment please. Thank you. - Bleeding Crimson Editor_

Chapter Six

Two days later, Alin was busy at work serving customers as usual. She was mixing some batter for a batch of vanilla scones when her phone vibrated. The dark-haired woman checked the message.

_Uncle and his detective flat-mate are coming sometime today. Keep an eye out for them. I told them that they could have a meal on the house._

_-Ash_

Alin sighed and typed her standard reply:

_K._

She watched from across the way as Ash picked up her phone and rolled her eyes. Alin thought, _She__'__s__probably__thinking__about__how__terse__I__am__even__in__texts._The notion made Alin grin ever so slightly. She went back to her baking without a second glance into the store. If she had, she would have noticed a tall, lanky gentleman wearing a long coat enter the bookstore. Ash did see him; however, she did not approach him. Instead, she busied herself with setting some newly refurbished books on the shelves. The brunette jumped when the man in the coat asked,

"Excuse me, you own this store, do you not?"

"Y-yes. Co-proprietor, really. Ashton Hadley. Your name, sir?"

"Sherlock Holmes." Taking his extended hand, Ash quickly scanned the man before her, taking in the details of his physique with a keen, practiced eye.

Sherlock had a long, thin face, longer and thinner than average- his prominent cheekbones didn't help manners. His long, slightly prominent nose fit his face perfectly but would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. Likewise his eyebrows were large but not bushy. His eye color seemed to be blue upon first glance, but further scrutiny proved that it ranged from blue to green to grey to a combination of the three depending on the light. The shape of his eyes was difficult to describe, but it was as distinctive as the rest of him. The man's lips were thin with a severe Cupid's Bow. They possessed the same quirk that Alin had, making them prone to smirking, _not_ smiling. His skin was slightly tanned and showed faint signs of weathering. Ash noted this and wondered what kind of life this, to put it mildly, strange-looking man led. Sherlock frowned down at her.

"Something the matter?"

Ash shook her head as if to clear it. "No, nothing. Sorry, force of habit. I'm-"

"An artist, yes, I can see that."

Ash's brows knitted. "Oh? How can you tell?"

The man pointed to her cheek. "You have a smudge of charcoal just under your eye and flecks of paint in your hair."

"Duly noted. May I help you with something, sir?"

"Ah, yes." He dug a folded piece of paper from his pocket and pushed it in front of her. Ash took it and studied the written symbols. Her brows knit together as they were prone to when she was concentrating.

"These... these look familiar."

"Can you translate them for me?"

"_Maybe_, although I don't know if 'translate' is quite the word you're looking for. I'd have to find references from the back. I know that we've refurbished books with these before. Come with me to the storage room, and I'll see what I can do."

Sherlock followed Ash into the cluttered restoration room. His light-colored eyes swept across the room, taking it all in. Ash took note of this as she picked her way through the endless piles of books. She yawned.

"You ought to take your medication on a more regular basis," Sherlock advised tonelessly. Ash frowned at him.

"Excuse me?"

"You also ought to be careful with that wrist of yours. Just because you've achieved almost perfect ambidexterity doesn't' mean that your right wrist has completely healed."

"And just _how_ is it that you know all this about me?"

"Simple- your exhaustion is evident in the bags under your eyes that you try to hide _unsuccessfully_ with your thick-rimmed glasses and untidy hair. Your mismatched attire does not help matters. Your movements also suggest tiredness, as does your tendency to blank out and startle easily. Because you've gone to the effort to hide the signs of your exhaustion, it stands to reason that you have chronic sleep problems. However, because you can function properly, one would gather that you have some kind of medication that you take."

"I don't take it because I don't have to," Ash replied grudgingly. She hated taking her medicine and wouldn't if she could help it. "I'm not an insomniac or anything."

"You mostly don't take it because you easily forget things."

"Well then," Ash stated, trying to sound confident, but really she just didn't know how to counter his statement. Deciding to switch the subject, she asked, "What about my wrist? How'd you figure that out?"

"The callouses on your right hand suggest that you write more than you type, and along with the paint in your hair that suggests that you paint and draw often. These activities would build up callouses on your fingers. On both your left and right hand the callouses are large and tough enough to suggest you use them equally to preform tasks as precise as those, however the right is slightly more defined.

"You are also careful with how you use your hand. You grabbed the paper with your right hand, but when you lift books, you tend to use your left hand. This being that you prefer your right to your left, as it was originally the dominant, but something happened that made it weak, too weak to use for a while, and so you trained yourself to use your left just as well as your right."

"Ah! How could I have been so daft! You must be Uncle's detective flate-mate! You live with John Watson, yes?"

"Yes. You are his god-sister." Ash nodded. "Then you must realize the importance of this document."

"This is evidence, is it? Nasty business, then. What material was this written, and where?"

"Blood, on the wall of an abandoned building."

Ash cringed at the thought, though the novelty of it actually happening in real life seemed rather exciting. She wondered if she would be able to help with the investigation at all. She had always loved mysteries, though she had long ago given up the thought of ever writing one of those. What wonderful reference... Ash shook her head to rid herself of the thoughts. They were indecent- or at least that's what Uncle had told her. She had never quite understood but had accepted his advice and not voiced those thoughts to others. The brunette brushed the hair out of her face with her right hand and set a pile of books on an empty space on the nearest table with the other hand. The female carefully flipped through and slipped pieces of paper between certain pages. Ash quickly and precisely copied the sketch on another piece of paper, adding notes including the information Sherlock had given and questions for her partner.

"Since your request falls under scripting, I'll have my partner come out and look at these. Calligraphy's her specialty. She could tell you what it is and most likely where it's from, too. If you'll excuse me." Ash exited the room.

"Alin!" She yelled out; luckily there were no customers taking up her counterpart's time. What a string of luck, it seemed, for whenever Ash called for Alin to leave her post, there was no one left to serve. _Good__luck__from__that__rabbit__'__s__foot,_ Alin supposed. She approached her partner at a leisurely pace.

"Yes?"

"We have a customer here with a question about some markings. He wants us to translate them, but I don't know if they're actually _words_. They resemble some kind of pentagram, but I'm not sure if it's occult or not. I found some tomes for you cross-reference. I would have done it, but I can't read half of the sources."

Alin nodded and followed her into the back room.

"Hello," she greeted the tall man in the corner. _I__presume__he__'__s__the__one__Ash__was__talking__about.__Seems__a__bit__on__guard.__Is__he__expecting__something__bad__to__happen?_ Making her way over to the table where she spied a piece of loose paper.

"You are?" Alin raised an eyebrow at the man. She never got a name from Ash, and she wasn't entirely sure if Ash had even gotten a name herself. The brunette had a habit of only remembering names that were interesting enough for her books.

"Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes." He barely glanced at her before saying, "You ought to restring that instrument of yours."

Alin looked at Sherlock, then Ash, the latter of whom grinned expectantly. Leaning forward, the older woman asked,

"Tell me, sir, how you came to this conclusion." Her tone suggested that he had said something similar to her earlier.

"The pads on the tips of your fingers are calloused in the way that those who play stringed instruments are; these callouses you have are larger than normal, suggesting that you have to press down harder for the note you want. This is caused by the strings gradually wearing down with repeated usage. So you must restring your instrument. Violin, correct?"

"Yes." She stared at him, _it__seems__so__simple__as__he__lays__it__out__plain,__but__he__must__be__a__master__to__deduce__these__things__so__quickly._

"How did you know she plays violin? Why not guitar or even cello?"

"The slightly calloused skin around the chin; it's not very noticeable unless you're looking for it."

"Hn. What did you come for?" Alin was impressed; anyone would be, though she had been called down for a reason, and she only had a limited amount of time to resolve that dilemma before she would need to go back and man the café. Ash would have to go back to the bookstore. There should be one of them up there at least.

"I need you to translate the symbols on this document." He was to the point, something Alin appreciated.

"Translate..." True, those symbols couldn't really be translated. But she could find out what they meant. _I__know__it__'__s__around__here__somewhere..._

"Alin, while you're busy, I'm going to go back to the bookstore. Want me to cover for you in the café?"

"If you wish." 'Call down if you need help,' was implied. Of course Alin would never let Ash overburden herself; that would just be rude.

" 'K. Give me a ring if you need any help. Not that I think you will, mind; you're the best thar is in these parts." Ash drawled the last sentence like a cowboy in some American Western and exited with a wink in Alin's direction. Alin smirked a tad at this. _She__can__be__so__theatrical__sometimes.__At__least__it__is__entertaining._

With that, Alin went to work. She analysed the pattern as a whole as well as the symbols individually. She perused the pages that Ash marked and, finding that they were insufficient, went off to gather more materials, both from upstairs in the actual bookstore and down in the cellar where a collection of rebound tomes were ready for private use.

"In a hurry, Mr. Holmes?" Alin asked.

"Not particularly, though people will die if I do not have this in time to stop it."

"Hn, you shall have it when I finish."

"I assumed as much."

"You assumed correctly."

"Yes."

She didn't reply except to hum her acknowledgement of the fact that he had spoken. She instead resumed her work. If there were really people dying, it wouldn't hurt to put a little extra effort to finish quickly. Taking thorough notes as she poured through the many tomes, she had just about forgotten that Mr. Holmes was there, watching as she researched his problem. She made her own notes on Ash's sketch, sometimes crossing out her partner's notes and other times jotting down the meanings to the symbols on the circle.

_It seems that Ash hit a snag here. She could not discern what this symbol is, and I do not blame her- whoever drew this either is a terrible artist or has terrible handwriting, or perhaps both. I can't tell what this symbol is. I can only guess. Ash's guess doesn't quite match up with anything I have. Let us see if I can figure out what is supposed to go here... _

"Hey, Alin, how's it going?" Ash asked, walking in. John trailed in behind her. Motioning to him, Ash said, "Look whom I brought with me!"

Alin nodded in greeting while Sherlock said dully, "It's about time."

Watson, who hadn't seen Sherlock until that moment, jumped slightly in surprise. Chuckling, he said to Ash, "Well, I guess you've met my flat-mate, then."

"That I have. Wait a second-" Ash walked over and looked over the paper with the pentagram. Motioning to the aforementioned picture, Ash asked, "Uncle, is this _your_ horrid artistry?"

John looked affronted. "Excuse me?"

"I have no bloody idea what this is supposed to look like," Alin clarified, her voice monotone, holding up the drawing, now covered with notes and doodles.

"Why, yes, it is. I'm sorry that it wasn't very good. My phone just couldn't get a good picture with in that light."

"Wasn't very good? Uncle, we can't make out half of it! No wonder your partner had to come to us!"

"Is this what you saw?" Alin gave the detective team the re-drawn picture to analyze. John nodded his head at once. Sherlock, however, objected,

"No- this was slightly different. If I may." He took the pencil tucked behind Ash's ear, much to her chagrin, and added a few lines. He handed the paper and pencil back to Alin. "There. That's what we saw."

After snatching back her beloved pencil, Ash peeked over her friend's shoulder and nodded approvingly; this drawing made much more sense than the original. Alin sent her partner to fetch a few more volumes and, after Ash returned with them, the girls finished their inquiry. Alin thought to herself worriedly, _This__might__very__well__be__what__I__think__it__is,__though__I__pray__it__is__not._

Upon receiving the paper back, John suggested,

"Why don't we all go out to eat? It's closing time, and I'm sure that you're famished."

Alin cast Ash a dark look, one that said, _You__left__me__in__here__for_how_many__hours__while__you__worked__the__stores__by__yourself?_Ash looked away, unable to withstand her companion's withering stare.

"Dinner sounds lovely," Ash said finally, breaking the silence. She wrapped her favorite scarf around her neck with a flourish. "Where to?"

"I know a particularly good fish 'n' chips place..."


	8. Chapter VII

_**Disclaimer:** We don't own Sherlock, BBC or Otherwise... this is just product of our Imagination that we have decided to share with whoever wants to read this. Feel free to flame but if you do please flame appropriately, no bad grammar or superfluous cussing and actually have a problem with it (who knows, it might be fixed- especially if you find a typo or any bad grammar, we hate those just as much as you do), don't flame just to flame…save yourself the time and embarrassment please. Thank you. - Bleeding Crimson Editor_

Chapter Seven

"So can you explain what this all means?" John asked. The four of them were sitting at the booth. "I know you wrote it all down, but you have so many notes and things crossed out and arrows to different places that I don't know which way to follow it."

To everyone's surprise it was Alin who spoke first. "Human transmutation."

"What?" Asked Watson.

"Human transmutation" Ash echoed. "An alchemical means to raise someone from the dead. It doesn't work, though."

A male voice shouted, "Number forty-three!"

"Ah, that's ours. If you'll excuse me..." Ash rose from the table and walked over to the counter. Watson turned to Alin and asked, trying to keep his tone serious,

"What exactly does this 'transmutation' usually entail?"

"I am sure you know, Mr. Holmes," Alin said, casting a lazy glance at Sherlock. She focused her attention back on John and continued, "However, it involves a circle, the one you see here, and the basic ingredients for a human: water, carbon, ammonia, lime, phosphorous, salt, saltpeter, sulfur, fluorine, iron, silicone, and trace amounts of fifteen other elements. Though once again, I must stress the fact, it does not work. _Ever_."

This stunned him for a couple seconds, as it was the most that John had ever heard Alin say in a day, let alone a single sitting. However, his innate curiosity forced him to ask the question.

"Why doesn't it work?" He received one of Alin's patented stares for a minute or so before she answered.

"Other that the fact that alchemy is not real and therefore will never work, this, specifically, will not work because one of the most important elements cannot be obtained. A human soul."

Sherlock scoffed, "And where would you get a human soul in the first place?"

'From a human of course. Would have to be previously alive and the transmutation would kill them. The law of equivalent exchange."

"Why previously alive?" Once again a blank stare was awarded, though this time it was aimed in Sherlock's direction.

"A soul only inhabits a body that is alive. Once the mortal coil is shuffled off, the soul is freed of it's earthly bonds and goes to wherever souls go to after the body has wilted and decayed."

"Morbid," John muttered to himself. He could see these two perhaps getting along, Alin and Sherlock. They would go prance around crime scenes together and be thoroughly amused at what they found, the dead bodies especially. Then again, Ash also loved reading and writing dark prose and poetry. He saw that she was already fascinated by him. Was he the only one with any sense?

"So, what'd I miss?" Ash asked, settling herself next to Alin while placing her spoils on the table: breaded fish, chips, and a sprite. Alin grabbed the drink and, taking off the lid, sipped it and pushed it back into it's previous spot, lid still tipped to the side and straw sticking out.

"Not much, just some information that is not very interesting. Easily found."

"So you explained the alchemy, then."

Alin nodded. Ash smiled wryly. "And they were skeptical right off the bat, yes?"

Another nod. The brunette woman shook her head. "If only everyone felt that way about it. Then we would not be in this mess now, would we? But let us not talk about that just yet. The food is here, and while I _love_ a good chat on various violent causes of death, I would prefer to eat before we discuss this is detail. Yes?"

"Yes, please!" John concurred.

The foursome strolled down the street. They had decided that privacy was better for discussing subjects of this matter and thus were making their way to Baker Street. Ash and Alin walked arm-in-arm, the brunette laying her head on the younger one's shoulder. _She__most__likely__forgot__to__take__her__medicine__last__night,_Alin thought._That__girl__is__so__forgetful!__But__she__wouldn__'__t__be__herself__if__she__remembered__everything,__now__would__she?_

Alin spotted a passing magpie and doffed her fedora, saying with a slight bow, "Hello Mr. Magpie, and how do you do?"

She heard Ash laugh and murmur a similar greeting. Alin smiled at her and continued walking. She saw Sherlock roll his eyes at her, and she suspected that he already knew what she was up to and didn't approve in the slightest.

"What was that about?" John asked.

"The best way to avoid bad luck when passing a magpie is to doff your hat and ask him how he is doing," Alin said tonelessly. Ash added,

"Alin's superstitious, not that I mind. I've learned so much from her that I can use for my writing!" Ash beamed at her friend.

"You two are _so_ adorable!" a feminine voiced exclaimed enthusiastically. An older, bespectacled woman wearing fuzzy red scarf, highlighter-yellow pants, and a neon-colored blouse with an abstract floral print beamed at the two girls. A red fedora with an over-sized yellow flower and a few feathers sticking out from the brim perched precariously on her wild, curly greying hair. She held up a camera. "Excuse me, dears, but do you mind me taking a photo? I'm taking a photography class, and you two are perfect models!"

Alin nodded readily enough, but Ash was a little more hesitant. _That__'__s__right,__I__forgot-__she__hates__getting__her__photo__taken.__Ah,__well,__she__does__not__look__too__perturbed__by__it,__for__now.__If__it__is__good,__perhaps__I__could__convince__her__to__bring__a__copy__to__the__store.__We__need__more__pictures__of__each__other__together.__I__mostly__have__ones__of__only__her,__and__half__of__the__time__she__is__frowning__at__me__for__taking__her__photo__in__the__first__place,__though__she__is__not__very__successful__at__remaining__unhappy__with__me__long__enough__to__dissuade__me__from__taking__a__picture_.

After she snapped a few shots, the photographer asked amiably, "What are your names?"

"Alin Semloh, and this is Ashton Hadley. We own Thirteenth Hour and Belladonna's Brews. Would you mind terribly bringing copies of those photographs, please?"

"Do you? Excellent! Work relationships can be messy, but you two seem to be getting along just fine. And no, I don't mind at all! So, how long have you two been dating?"

"E-excuse me?" Ash choked, though not so startled as to indicate that this was new. The brunette tried to blink away the emotion on her face, and when that didn't work, she had to look away lest she betray her simultaneous incredulity and aversion at the thought. Sherlock smirked, and John didn't know whether to crack a smile or be disturbed.

_Oh__god,__not__this__again.__Might__as__well__just__shut__her__up,_ Alin thought.

"Five months."

"Five whole months? Well, you two are just _perfect_ for each other!" Wagging her finger at Alin, she said, "You be good to her, young man! You don't find many beauties like her around! And you- Ashley, was it? -don't be afraid to let more of that outer beauty show! You're a like rose in the middle of this city! Put your hair up once in awhile and wear some contacts! Goodbye, young lovers! May your feelings for each other blossom forevermore!"

With that the odd photographer walked away, leaving a disgruntled Ash, an impassive Alin, and two snickering gentleman. Ash lightly punched John on the arm.

"Don't laugh! It's embarrassing, even if she did think Alin was a boy!"

"Don't worry about it," Alin said off-handedly. "It doesn't matter."

"She _was_a bit off her rocker," John said, laying an apologetic hand on Ash's shoulder. The brunette sighed.

"I suppose..." Ash conceded. She looked in the direction the woman had gone. "I've been around a lot of loonies, all things considering, but something about her just doesn't sit right with me. She's too... _peppy_. What do _you_ make of it, Sherlock?"

Sherlock ignored Ash and began walking ahead briskly. Ash narrowed her eyes at him but said nothing. They made their way to Thirteenth Hour where Ash and Alin popped in to grab a few items. After that they climbed into a cab and drove the rest of the way to Baker Street. To the women's surprise, a police car was there waiting for them. Sherlock fairly leaped from the vehicle in excitement at the sight of it. His face remained impassive, but there was a savage gleam in his eye. John exited the taxi second, holding the door open for the female passengers. He remained behind long enough to pay the fare. A man with short, dark hair greying on the sides strolled purposefully over to the four. Ash guessed that he was probably in his late forties and, by his confident gait, he was the head of the police here. He stood about 5'11" and had a rather handsome face, though currently its expression was one of stress and an underlying sadness. He nodded politely to the women and addressed the consulting detective.

"Sherlock-"

"There's been another one. Where?" Sherlock asked, obviously chomping at the bit to get going. Ever since Alin had told him what the bloody pentagram meant, he had been anxious to move on to the rest of the case.

"In a house downtown. I've told them to leave the scene as it is until we get there."

"We can't count on anything from the but their incompetency, especially if Anderson is involved," Sherlock cut in. "Take us there. We'll follow you in the cab."

Anderson nodded. He turned to Ash and Alin. "I'm sorry to take them away at such short notice, but-"

"We're coming," Ash said so readily and confidently that she even took John aback. Sherlock made no effort to conceal his displeasure. John frowned with brotherly worry and objected,

"Who said-"

"Uncle dearest," Ash said, turning on him and shaking her finger, "Alin and I need to see the pentagram for ourselves. I love you, but that bloody awful art job you did cost you some necessary time. If we see the crime scene for ourselves, we can further assess the intent of the murderer. Human transmutation is against every law of alchemy- it's the darkest, worst thing an alchemist can do. We need to know why this person is so desperate to bring someone back."

Lestrade blanched at her outburst. "Human what? What kind of nonsense is this?"

"Nonsense that is getting innocent people killed, sir," Alin answered, her face serious enough for Lestrade to take her at her word.

"If you think about it," Ash mused lightly, "many times murderers have some kind of nonsensical notion in their heads that drives them to kill. Like revenge or love. Justifiable in some people's books, perhaps, but not logical."

John raised his hand to his forehead. _Dear__Lord,__she__sounds__just__like__Sherlock._

"Murderers are rarely ever totally sane, after all." Alin cut in.

Lestrade, obviously thinking the same thing as John, looked from Sherlock and Watson back to Ash and Alin. He was used to Sherlock consulting... _unconventional_ sources, but he wasn't about to take two young, innocent women to a crime scene, especially when the victim resembled them so closely. "Who are you exactly?"

John stepped forward, "This is my god-sister, Ashton Hadley, and her flat-mate Miss Alin Semloh."

Alin could tell he added the "Miss" just in case Lestrade mistook her gender like the photographer had. John continued,

"They own Thirteenth Hour and Belladonna's Brews..." he inwardly grimaced, realizing how incriminating the names sounded as well as what he was about to say. "They're the best people to decipher the markings the killer has been leaving at his murders."

Lestrade nodded. He recognized them now from all the times he had visited their store and hesitated. While Alin seemed in control of herself, he read slight trepidation in her companion's manner. He sighed. "If Sherlock lets you come, then you may come, but otherwise stay here, where you're safe. We wouldn't want you two to be next on the list."

He walked back to the police car, which waited until Sherlock hailed a cab and climbed in. With noticeable reluctance, he nodded for Ash and Alin to come, too.

Pausing for a moment before following Alin murmured, "Odd."

"What?" Ash turned before stepping into the cab.

"Just that bird. Do you see it? A jackdaw- on the house roof. A sign of misfortune to be sure..." She trailed off and furrowed her brows in dissent. _I__hope__it__is__only__passing__and__is__not__meant__to__be__an__omen.__God__knows__that__I__do__not__want__to__deal__with__another__one__of__those__so__soon._

"A jackdaw? That doesn't bode well at all." Ash tried to find where the bird had just rested, but it had gone.

"Yes." Alin turned again towards the cab and herded Ash towards the open door of the running cab. The meter was most likely running as well, and Sherlock looked to be getting impatient.

"You just want to see the crime scene, don't you?" Alin murmured in Ash's ear as they climbed into the cab. Ash smiled coyly.

"I meant every word I said out there," she answered with an air of playful defiance. "But yes, I really do want to see the crime scene. I've seen dead bodies before. I can take it."

John gazed at his god-sister worriedly. _Does__she__forget__about__what__happened__last__time__she__saw__dead__bodies?__No,__I__can__see__the__doubt__in__her__eyes.__She__wants__to__prove__to__herself__that__she__can__take__it__this__time.__But__**can**__she?__If__the__girls__' __expertise__wasn__'__t__so__crucial__to__solving__this__mystery,__I__wouldn__'__t__have__let__them__come.__I__hope__this__doesn__'__t__turn__out__to__be__another__disaster._


	9. Chapter VIII

_**Disclaimer:** We don't own Sherlock, BBC or Otherwise... this is just product of our Imagination that we have decided to share with whoever wants to read this. Feel free to flame but if you do please flame appropriately, no bad grammar or superfluous cussing and actually have a problem with it (who knows, it might be fixed- especially if you find a typo or any bad grammar, we hate those just as much as you do), don't flame just to flame…save yourself the time and embarrassment please. Thank you. - Bleeding Crimson Editor_

Chapter Eight

The black car that served as a cab pulled up to a seemingly normal house nearer to the outskirts of London than the center. The house was an unassuming two-story of stone brick. The stoop was a little higher than most of the others on the street, but nothing out of the ordinary. The rest of the block was also quite normal.

It was all too... fake. Plastic. Superficial.

As Ash stepped out of the taxi behind the others, she thought with a guilty pang that she might almost be glad to see the sinister secret the house contained. Almost. She trailed at the edge of the group, apprehensive about entering such a deceptively bland house. With her eccentrically mismatched yet somehow cohesive layers of clothing, she felt out of place among the normalcy of the surrounding houses and shops. Her garments flowed about her as she trotted to catch up to her best friend, the not-male that dressed like both and neither gender. Ash grasped the other woman's hand and squeezed it tightly. Alin gripped her hand back reassuringly.

_I hope Ash is alright. She looks fine, but I don't think that I would be able to tell if she was a little worried about this if she hadn't of grabbed my hand. I will gladly lend any support to her, even if she were not to ask. She may not know, but I will be here for her. I promise you that, Ash. I promise I'll be here for you forever, even after we're both dead and gone and ashes ourselves._

"I promise," Alin murmured to herself, aloud. Ash didn't catch but the tail-end of the last word but only sent a questioning look. Alin shook her head softly; it wasn't important. Well, not to anyone else. It was her own personal vow, an oath that she would never break. It was of utmost importance to her, and she would never forgive herself if something were to happen to Ash if she could help it.

"Come on. We will get this over with quickly then go back to our shops. You know how loath I am to leave them closed during the day. We will be missing a good amount of business. We are usually busy this time."

Hopefully this sort of talk would help get Ash's mind off whatever she was thinking that was even moderately distressing her. Alin wouldn't know if it worked or not because they entered that quiet -too quiet- house just then.

_Blood._ The first thing that Alin could think. It was everywhere. She was expecting it but not, perhaps, like this. Nothing else really passed through her mind other than holding Ash's hand even tighter. Ash wasn't collapsing, so she figured she was alright for the moment. Sherlock was already doing his thing, examining the body first and foremost.

"Well, this is most definitely alchemy, however unsuccessful it be. Human transmutation." Letting go of Ash's hand, Alin slowly walked around the circle in the center of the room that took up most of the floor-space. She was careful not to step on anything, blood or otherwise.

"See here." She pointed the the center of the circle. "The basic layout is a circle inscribed with a hexagon (which represents balance, perfection and unity), which in turn is inscribed with the triangle representing fire and another circle. This triangle has yet another, much smaller, circle in the very center that is ringed with a free-standing circle of text.

"On each of the triangle's sides there is a mark, one for bismuth, one for mercury and the last for white arsenic. And at each point of the hexagon, in the large circle, there are the signs for magnesium, gold, lead, sal armonic, copper, and platinum."

She moved around a bit more, squinted as she looked at the outermost circle and looked pensive for another minute or two before speaking again.

"The writing around the edges of the circle are in Latin. They say, at least roughly, 'Pale white and black with false citrine imperfect white and red. The peacock's feather in bright colours, the rainbow in the sky above. The spotted panther, the green lion, the crow's beak, blue as lead. These shall appear before you in perfect white.' It stops here but then seems to continue on in the 'banners' at each edge of the triangle. The right and left are the same- these read, 'After the perfect white follows the grey.' The one at the bottom reads, ' And after these shall appear the substance,' which most likely is either the philosopher's stone or the actual person this maniac wants.

"Just outside the innermost circle, in no banner and standing alone as text, reads 'The peacock's feather in bright colours, the rainbow in the sky above. The spotted panther, the green lion, the crow's beak, blue as lead,' again. The innermost circle is the hardest to read, as it is small and has been smudged a bit by the body on top of it, but if I remember correctly, it should (and does as far as I can tell) read, 'these shall appear before you in perfect white, pale white and black with false citrine, imperfect white and red.' " Alin finished speaking and was silent for a long while. Sherlock had also finished his once-over of the scene.

"The killer is left-handed, an older male. As I have said before." Sherlock spoke up, "He also smokes his own kind of cigarette, not tobacco but an odd vanilla and spice blend, and has been to the beach recently. Mediterranean, if I am not wrong, and I rarely am."

"This... this is absolutely psychotic," Ash whispered, her shaking voice barely audible over Sherlock's rambling. The brunette woman gulped as if that would steady her nerves. "I would know."

John winced at her words. Ash, unaware that her god-brother had heard, smiled anxiously and waved. Watson gave his best impression of a comforting smile and waved back. He watched as her hazel eyes flitted around the room drinking in the horrid sights like poisonous but addicting wine. He knew that even though those eyes took in what everyone else's did (with the exception of Sherlock, of course), they saw something different. John had always admired how Ash was able to perceive everything- every shape, every shadow, every detail- and imprint it in her mind's eye for her to recreate later. Now, however, he was glad that he didn't have this ability; he'd feel overwhelmed by it all. Then again, sometimes she did, too.

_She__shouldn't__be__here.__She_really_shouldn't__be__here.__She__'__ll__have__nightmares.__She__'__ll__probably__be__feeling__the__consequences__of__this__for__weeks.__Why__did__I__let__her__come__in__the__first__place?__Why__didn__'__t__I__just__bring__Alin?_John cast a glance at Sherlock, who continued to inspect everything in sight. The blonde shook his head imperceptibly. _If__I__lived__alone,__I__'__d__have__Ash__spend__the__night__just__in__case.__I__wouldn__'__t__want__her__to__hurt__herself.__However,__seeing__that__Sherlock__shares__my__flat...__that__'__s__be__a__terrible__idea.__Whatever__damage__is__done__here,__he__'__ll__make__it__ten__times__worse.__Not__that__he__'__ll__mean__to,__but__he__will__anyway._

Alin turned to Ash and quietly asked her companion if she felt like sketching any of this down for future use. Watson noticed the hesitancy in her voice, as if she were afraid of hurting her with the mere thought of recording any of this. Ash immediately pulled out her sketchbook and began copying the pentagram on the floor with near-perfect accuracy before going on to document the walls, the ceiling, the stairs... any part that mildly interested her even if it had nothing to do with the case. Alin followed closely behind, always keeping Ash within reach should something happen. The doctor smiled.

_At__least__she__has__Alin__around.__I__know__that__neither__of__us__should__baby__Ash__the__way__we__do,__but__I__'__m__glad__someone__sees__that__it__helps__her.__Maybe__not__the__way__she__would__like,__but__at__least__there__is__someone.__Always__someone__for__her__to__fall__back__on,__to__be__her__safety__net.__Just__in__case,__for__that__one__moment__where__she__is__off__balance,__she__comes__tumbling__off__the__wire__from__so__high__up.__At__least__there__is__something__to__catch__her,__to__slow__down__her__fall__and__to__hold__her__up__until__she__is__able__to__get__up__and__try__again._John sighed. _Ash__'__s__poetry__must__be__getting__to__me._

Sherlock bent over and began putting linen-colored dust into a bag for examination. He didn't recognize the source, but he'd find out when he got to St. Bart's. Alin and Ash returned to the room from Ash's excursion into the rest of the house. Alin squinted at the dust for a few seconds.

"That dust is from an old book. Probably where he found the alchemy circle."

"An old book? How can you tell?"

"She's right," Ash piped up. "It has a very distinctive color and texture. May I see the bag? I promise I won't touch the contents."

Sherlock considered for a moment before he acquiesced, but not without a scowl on his face. Ash opened the bag and wafted the air into her nostrils. She handed the bag quickly to Alin before turning away and sneezing thrice loudly. Smiling bashfully, she confirmed,

"That's definitely lignin. It's what causes paper to yellow, get stiff, and smell. I'm quite allergic to it. Normally I take medication-"

"No, you don't," Sherlock cut in. Ash scowled at him with a slight pause before continuing,

"But I didn't take it today because I didn't think I'd need to. I only do when I know I'm going to spend a long day in the book refurbishing room."

"Are you not supposed to take it every day." It was a statement, not a question, even though it was grammatically one. Alin sometimes did that; more often than not it was aimed at Ash with an air of reproach.

"No," Ash replied. "I'm serious. I actually _do_ read the packages of the medicines I take despite what you all seem to think, and it says that I only need to take it if necessary. Now, back to the dust. Check for lots of things, I suppose, but definitely check for the presence of lignin. As I'm sure you know, it is one of the most abundant bio-polymers, exceeded only by cellulose. Beware of its heterogeneity and lack of a defined primary structure, though, as you test it."

"You know quite a lot about lignin," Watson remarked with mild surprise. Ash smiled almost patronizingly at her god-brother.

"My Dearest Uncle, you must realize by now that I know a lot about all manners of things because almost all manners of things are useful to at least one of my trades at one point or another." She chuckled and continued, "Plus I wrote a ten-page, single-spaced paper about it for biology, and those things tend to stick with you."

Sherlock huffed quietly. He quite understood about knowing little bits of information relevant to one's work, but to have the misguided opinion that everything was relevant to her work... Why, she must be even more arrogant than he, though no one else seemed to view her in that manner. The consulting detective swiftly left the room and headed to St. Bart's to disprove the women's theory. DI Lestrade announced that he had urgent matters to attend to, leaving Watson, Alin, and Ash.

"Well, girls, do you need anything?" Watson asked. Alin seemed to be self-sufficient, but he knew from experience how difficult Ash could be. Alin shook her head.

"Uncle," Ash said with an affected lightness, "We'll be fine. Give us a ring if you or Sherlock need anything else. Keep us posted, too. Yes?"

"Of course. I'll let you know if anything changes. I love ya, Sugar Plum." He gathered her into his arms and held her there for several moments. He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face and kissed her gently on the forehead. Still holding her, he looked into her eyes and murmured, "Be safe, alright? Both of you. I'd hate for anything to happen to either of you."

Both nodded solemnly, vowing that the other would never come to harm as long as she had a say. Alin stared piercingly -though not accusingly- into John Watson's eyes.

_He__has__made__the__same__vow__as__I.__Ash__is__as__dear__to__him__as__she__is__to__me,__though__of__course__in__a__different__way.__He__loves__her__more__than__anyone__in__the__world.__Even__more,__I__would__dare__to__guess,__than__his__own__blood__sister__that__Ash__has__told__me__many__stories__about._Alin glanced at the brunette "innocently" chatting with Watson about how this would be spectacular reference for a murder scene in the book she was writing. Despite her appearance of being perfectly fine, Alin and Watson both knew that it wouldn't last. Not with what had just happened. Any moment now she would snap.

_Perhaps he may be able to tell me what Ash herself has kept secret._

_Two Days Later_

Ash and Alin walked home briskly in the fading daylight. Normally they would have walked in a more leisurely pace, but the ever-present thought of the murderer combined with the weight of the groceries provided more than enough motivation to hurry home as quickly as possible. Ash sang an old sailing ditty under her breath. The foursome had kept up sporadic contact over the past 48 hours, meeting twice at Belladonna's Brews, but that was mostly for Watson's benefit to make sure that everything was fine with the girls. It had been several hours since his last report, and that was only to confirm that the dust had come from paper had been from a tome dating somewhere in the 1600s. Ash had smirked triumphantly at the news, which she knew full well would have irritated the consulting detective. Pity she hadn't been there. She would have loved to see the expression on his face.

During these two days, Ash had been slightly more spacey and easily distracted than usual, but other than that, she seemed quite normal. However, the raven-haired female guessed that her friend had not slept much after the encounter with the bloodied room. After such a long span of the brunette's great mood, Alin feared that her companion would crash should anything else happen. Thankfully, she and Watson had privately talked and agreed that under no circumstances was Ash allowed to go to another crime scene. As long as Watson and she managed to keep out of harm's way, Alin figured that her friend would be fine.

"A-Alin, do you smell that?"

"Hn?"

"Alin, it smells like smoke. I think something's burning. Something big."

Suddenly, a firetruck sped past, sirens blaring, and turned onto their street only a couple blocks away. The women looked at each other silently before breaking into a run. They silently prayed that everything was fine. Alin mentally checked that all the appliances had been turned off, unnecessary cords unplugged, candles snuffed out... Though everything checked out, Alin still had the worst feeling at the pit of her stomach as they approached the final corner.

Just down the street, they could see their beloved house in flames. Before Alin could stop her, Ash suddenly rushed toward their house. Alin ran after her, yelling,

"Ashton, no!"

Thankfully, a firefighter stopped Ash from entering the danger zone. The brunette struggled to get past him to no avail. Alin gently pulled her back, giving the fireman a look of thanks. He nodded solemnly. He had eaten at Belladonna's Brews plenty of times and had come to like the owners. It was a pity that they had lost such a beautiful home. Ash's knees gave out, but Alin caught her and gently lowered her to the ground. Both were stupefied at the sight of those ugly, raging torrents of red, black, yellow, and orange. Even from several yards away, the sound of wood being consumed was deafening.

"Alin, our house, our beautiful house..." Ash whispered shakily. Her entire body trembled.

"My grandfather's house." Ash murmured under her breath, unheard by everyone. It was all she had left of him, though it seemed she didn't even have that anymore.

The fireman left to fetch some paramedics to attend to the pair. While Alin insisted she was fine, she let them treat Ash for shock. To the younger woman's relief, neither of them needed to be taken to the hospital. Alin's phone vibrated, jerking her back to reality. She looked at the caller ID.

_John__Watson._Alin glanced at Ash. _She__must__not__be__answering.__Then__again,__she__is__probably__not__aware__that__her__phone__is__ringing.__The__noise__level__here__is__too__high__to__hear__much__at__all._

"Hello," Alin answered, her voice hollow. On the other side of the line, Watson frowned.

"_Is everything all right? Ash isn't answering her cell."_

"The house..." Alin had to look away in order to think rationally. Now was not the time for her to fall to pieces. Ash wasn't a complete wreck, but the brunette needed her nonetheless. "The house is on fire."

"_A__fire!__" _John exclaimed. _"__I__'__ll__be__there__as__soon__as__I__can.__How__are__you__two__holding__out?__Are__you__hurt?__"_

Alin shook her head before remembering that he couldn't see her. "We were not at home at the start of the fire. We arrived ten minutes ago. Ash has been treated for shock, but she does not need to go to the hospital. We are currently at the corner nearest to our house."

_Or at least what used to be..._

"_I'm getting in a taxi right now. I should be there in ten minutes unless the fire has caused traffic."_

Alin nodded and hung up, not caring much that he couldn't see it. She didn't mean to be cold, but she herself was still reeling from the sight in front of her. She sat next to Ash, who had drawn her knees up to her chest. The fireman had covered her with a bright orange blanket, making her look like an overgrown three-year-old. From the expression her friend wore, Alin guessed that's how she felt, too.

"You... you can cry, you know. That is, if you want to." Alin had never been good at comforting others, but she knew that she had to try. She had not been able to keep their house from burning down, but perhaps she might be able to help Ash cope. Ash, meanwhile, said nothing. She didn't blink, didn't flinch, didn't move at all. Alin felt a weak wave of relief splash against her fraying consciousness when Watson arrived. Sherlock and Lestrade came on the scene a few minutes after.

"Ash! Alin! Oh, heavens..." John felt his heart break for the girls when he saw their house up in flames. Ash had told him so many stories about each banister and floorboard, each nook and cranny, each piece of furniture and art in that house. He knew that while the loss of material possessions was hard for them, the most difficult thing would be the memories they were watching slowly ascend into the sky on ashes. John tenderly helped Ash to her feet and led both women to the taxi.

"C'mon, Ash. Alin, you, too."

"It's... it's gone, Johnny," Ash stated weakly.

_Johnny._ She hadn't called him that since... _Since__Mum__and__Dad__died._

"It'll be okay, Sugar Plum. I promise. Let's go."


	10. Chapter IX

_**Disclaimer:** We don't own Sherlock, BBC or Otherwise... this is just product of our Imagination that we have decided to share with whoever wants to read this. Feel free to flame but if you do please flame appropriately, no bad grammar or superfluous cussing and actually have a problem with it (who knows, it might be fixed- especially if you find a typo or any bad grammar, we hate those just as much as you do), don't flame just to flame…save yourself the time and embarrassment please. Thank you. - Bleeding Crimson Editor_

Chapter Nine

In 221B Baker Street, Sherlock was pacing restlessly. He flailed his arms in near-manic excitement as he put together the facts in his genius mind. Alin, however, wasn't listening. She was still too numb from the sight of flames ravaging her family's beloved house. The fire department had, thankfully, put out the fire before it had spread to either the café or the store, but they hadn't been able to save her home.

"This- this is the clue we've been waiting for!" Sherlock exclaimed in ecstasy.

If Ash had been in the room, she would have told him off for his callousness, but as soon as they had arrived at the flat, Watson and Mrs. Hudson had ushered Ash into a spare bedroom in Mrs. Hudson's flat. John had done his best not to overwhelm his god-sister by fussing over her too much, but he couldn't help at least asking her what he could do. She had silently refused, instead shutting herself away from everyone else, including Alin.

_Ash__has__finally__snapped,_ she thought. _I__don__'__t__blame__her,__though.__That__was__quite__a__shock__to__her,__and__she__can__barely__handle__change__as__it__is.__We__are__always__so__careful__to__turn__everything__off__and__unplug__things__that__it__is__almost__unthinkable__that__this__would__happen__to__us.__Ash__is__always__so__sentimental,__too.__She__can__look__at__a__floorboard__and__remember__a__thousand__things__that__happened__while__she__stood__there.__And__her__room...__that__was__always__her__safe__place__where__she__could__go__and__think__during__her__dark__moods,__and__more__importantly,__feel__like__she__could__safely__hide__from__everything__that__haunts__her.__Now__that__fortress__is__gone,__just__like__everything__else._

"Sherlock, what are you going on about?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock turned on him in wild eagerness.

"You said that the fire was caused by arson."

_Arson?_ Alin thought. _I__must__not__have__been__paying__attention__during__that__part__of__the__conversation._

"Yes. So?"

"_So?_ This fire was caused on purpose, but it would be easier to burn the store or the café rather than the house. So why the house? Simple. The arsonist wanted to make a point."

"And that would be?" John asked.

"Stop helping with the alchemy case."

"Then why not burn down the store? That's where the alchemy books are."

"Exactly!" Sherlock exclaimed with a manic grin. "He still needs the books, so he can't burn down the store until he has the materials he needs. However, he can't have the girls helping us, so he destroys the house instead so that they can at least be distracted!"

Lestrade frowned. "I'll post a couple men around the store to keep watch. It'll mean overtime, but I don't want to take any chances."

John sighed. Exhaustion etched his features more deeply than Alin had noticed before. She made a resolution to help out Ash's god-brother however she could while she stayed in Mrs. Hudson's flat. Lestrade, too, looked at Watson in concern. The doctor noticed their stares.

"Guys, there's no need to look at me like that. I'm fine. _Really_. I'm just... worried about Ash. She's normally really good at taking hits despite her nature, but so much has happened recently. I knew I shouldn't have let her get involved!" John swore and banged his fist on the side table, making the teacups rattle. He whispered half to himself, "What was I thinking?"

"She was capable of saying no; she is the only one in charge of her decisions. She is an adult. Ash would do anything to help you, just as you would do anything for her. And besides, she wanted the adventure. She tires of living through her books and art and poetry- she wants to have her own life, too. She saw this as her chance." Alin paused, letting that sink in both for John's benefit and hers. She, too, felt guilty about letting Ash meddle with things they all knew she shouldn't.

"Watson, what happened? To Ash? Was she always like this, or...?" The question hung thickly in the air like acrid, black smoke. All eyes focused on John. Lestrade looked as if he wanted to say something to save the doctor from having to tell the story, but the words never made it to his lips. John leaned back in his chair with another heavy sigh and stared off into the distant land of memories.

"I was seven years old when Ash was born. My parents were best friends with her parents, so it was no surprise when Keith and Rowena asked Mum and Dad to be her god-parents. After all, the Hadleys had been designated as Harry's and my god-parents long ago. Ash was a beautiful baby. She really was..." He sighed, smiling dreamily at the memory of her smiling face and infectious giggle. Things had been so wonderful at that time... why had it all had to go wrong?

"Back then, she lived out in the country with her mum and dad. We used to visit them a lot even though we lived far away. I never minded. I loved playing out on the hills and moors with Ash.

"I didn't realize it until I was older, but the reason why we visited so often was because Rowena wasn't... _normal_. She was mentally ill. She had tried to get it treated before, but through various circumstances, her treatments with either misdiagnosed or else fruitless. Rowena finally gave up seeking help, and the Hadleys decided to live out in the country where the fresh air and less stressful lifestyle could help bring her peace. However, Rowena's illness -to this day, I still don't know exactly what it is- worsened. When Ash was eight and I fifteen, it had gotten to the point where Keith couldn't care for both her and her mother. Since no one wanted to institutionalize Rowena, Ash's and my parents decided that she was to live with us.

"By the time I turned seventeen and was ready to go into university, Ash and I had a much stronger bond than she did with anyone else in my family, so I decided to remain close to home so I could help whenever necessary. Even at that age, Ash began showing signs of mental illness herself. She had seen what her mother went through, and even though she didn't show it, she was frightened to death of the idea that she could end up like her mother. I think she still is, but after all the trouble her mum had with the doctors, she's never been brave enough to ask for help. She hated Rowena for 'stealing' her father from and 'abandoning' her, and she never, ever wanted to be the same way. After seeing her so distraught, I decided that I wanted to become a doctor so I could help her."

"But you didn't," Sherlock said, making Watson jump. No one had realized that the consulting detective was actually listening. "Well, you didn't become _that_ kind of doctor."

John smiled sadly. "You're right. A combination of factors contributed to that, but that's a story for another time. Suffice to say that when I decided to become an army doctor, Ash tried to be supportive of me, but she was very angry. While she got along well enough with Harry and my parents, she loved me best. Whenever she would get in one of her dark moods, I was the only one who could get her to eat or come back out to the rest of the world... she never told anyone else the things she confided in me, and for good reason. Some of the things she dreamed of or wrote about were simply frightening. I still cannot comprehend how such an innocent person as Ash can imagine these horrible things and depict them with such clarity. She knew that she couldn't tell anyone else about it all without being perceived as a freak. As it was, she was never really good at making friends, and her odd mannerisms only made things worse. I was pretty much the only person she had...

"When Ash was sixteen, my parents taking her to the cinema when their taxi collided head on with another vehicle. My parents and the cabbie were killed instantly. It's a miracle that Ash didn't die as well. As it was, she was in ICU for quite a while. I remember rushing up the to car and seeing their bloody bodies and pulling Ash out of the wreckage and thinking, '_Oh,__God,__is__she__going__to__die?_'"

His voice broke, and tears had formed in his eyes. The emotion in his tone had moved even Alin. The raven-haired woman swallowed, trying not to think about how she would have felt had she been in his place. She looked at Lestrade, who had tears in his eyes. Even Sherlock had fixed his absolute attention on John, though Alin guessed this was out of the granule of concern he felt for his flat-mate and not for the broken-hearted woman currently in the neighboring flat. However, she didn't blame him for this. After some time, John was finally able to resume his tale.

"I had hoped that perhaps the trauma of the event had blocked any memory of it. Instead, she suffered from recurring nightmares. Harry, Keith, and I discussed at length who should be her legal guardian once Ash left the hospital, and we mutually agreed for me to take her in. It was difficult, but we worked hard, and she pulled through. By the time she entered university, she had made a full recovery physically. However, when she had her moods, they were much darker and longer than before. I begged her to see a specialist, but she always swore that I was the only doctor she ever needed. I probably should have made her go anyway, but funds were tight, and our schedules were both busy. She had decided to live at home, even after graduating, and she didn't move out until I went off to the war. Just before I left, we searched for somewhere she could split the rent with another person." He looked at Alin with thanks in his eyes. "That's when we met you, Alin."

The black-haired woman nodded and replied,

"Yes, and from then she seemed like a normal person. Or, rather, as normal as humanity is apt to become. Other than her dark moods every once in a while and the medicine she was prescribed, I could have easily overlooked any other... signs of trauma and passed them off as quirks." She paused a bit, thinking over Ash's _many_ quirks, then resumed her story-telling.

"Yes, they would have been easily dismissed, and I would have been just as happy to do so. However, through a bit of instruction from Mr. Watson, I quickly learned what Ash needed a bit of help with how to deal with some of her moods. Though," at this she turned to face John, "I have found that once she is in a darker mood, then it is best to leave her for however long and not prod her to come out of it. It seems such a tactic only lengthens the duration of such a mood. Either way, I would wait them out, and when she wasn't then I put her to work in my storefront. She was a blessing to be sure. It is by far easier to only work one register than two, and usually two is needed for such a place as mine. Lucky for me, she is also quite adept at restoring old books; I only showed her once, I believe, and she did it near-perfectly on her second try. She really is quite intelligent. Her memory is very good, too. Though it seems that might have been her downfall..." Alin trailed off sadly. Then, looking up, locked eyes with Sherlock, seeming to completely ignore the other two listening to her.

"I want to help. And no, you do not really have much of a choice whether I come or not, actually. I _will_follow, and I _will_give my input, and I _will_help end this case before something else happens to her."

"Fair enough, I suppose." Sherlock answered, in his usual lazy drawl, "But you _will_follow my rules. That, and I expect an answer to one question I have. Why were there bones in your house?"


	11. Chapter X

_**Disclaimer:** We don't own Sherlock, BBC or Otherwise... this is just product of our Imagination that we have decided to share with whoever wants to read this. Feel free to flame but if you do please flame appropriately, no bad grammar or superfluous cussing and actually have a problem with it (who knows, it might be fixed- especially if you find a typo or any bad grammar, we hate those just as much as you do), don't flame just to flame…save yourself the time and embarrassment please. Thank you. - Bleeding Crimson Editor_

Chapter Ten

A terse silence hung in the air. There were _bones_in Alin's house? Why did she look so nonchalant about it then? Bones, _really_? Alin surveyed the reactions such a statement caused: Sherlock was, understandably, morbidly curious- more so than horrified- while Lestrade and Watson were wearing faces that seemed more suitable for the painting 'Scream' than this cozily furnished 'living room' of the flat. She chuckled lightly.

"Thi- this is no laughing matter! Alin, you have bones in your _house_. Do you know what that makes people think? That you killed someone! That's what people think! And even if you didn't, then you still have that forever attached to your name. Business will go down, you'll starve and then be out on the streets because you can't pay the mortgage!"

At John's rant Alin burst out in loud laughter. "Mr. Watson, 'even if I didn't,' truly? And what makes you assume that they be human bones? They belong to a horse." Her mirth had subsided though the lingering amusement, which she suspected would last nearly all day, for it had just struck midnight by this point (a good omen to laugh at the witching hour), was still obvious on her face.

"Horse bones?" Lestrade asked in curiosity. He had never heard of such a thing. He had visited Belladonna's Brews enough over the years to know that the owner was superstitious. That was one of the things she was known for. Could this also be some kind of bizarre belief she had?

"Yes, it is." Her face still held some amusement, though it was much more deadpan than before.

Lestrade winced slightly, almost unnoticeable, "Did I say that out loud?"

"Yes, you did indeed." The ever-mocking smile was still there.

"Well, then what is it? I'm curious now." John cut in, now recovered from his slight shock.

"Well, horses are good luck. Horses were used as valuable sacrifices by many ancient peoples, including the Romans, and their bones were concealed in the walls of houses, or horse skulls placed on the gables of houses, as a protection. So that was what I have done. In fact, I even took it a mite farther and fashioned myself a ring out of a horseshoe nail, see." She held out her left hand, and on the ring finger was a spherical iron band. Just looking at it you wouldn't be able to tell that it had previously been a horseshoe nail, the tip and the head had been cut off and the ends had been welded together near-seamlessly.

"A circular ring made from an iron horseshoe nail gives the same protection against evil as the horseshoe itself." Alin supplied.

"Fascinating." Lestrade said.

"Hn," Alin took out her trusty pocket watch and checked the time. She stood and motioned for Lestrade and John to keep sitting when they had began to stand also, "Its almost time for dinner, so I'll cook, as a thank you for letting us stay here for the time being. I'll check on Ash too, she'll be angry if she isn't allowed to help... It might cheer her up actually," she murmured to herself, walking out of the room and turning left, to go fetch Ash.

"Feel free to stay for dinner as well, Lestrade!" she offered, passing the doorway with the brunette woman surprisingly in tow.

)oOo(

"Yes, thank you, Ash. Would you mind handing me the oven mitts as well?" Alin asked as she busied herself in the kitchen, cooking as well as keeping Mrs. Hudson out. It just wouldn't do to let their gracious host work when she offered to let them spend the night at her flat.

"You know," an evil grin grew on Alin's normally stoic face, "we _could_always tell them we're serving owl for dinner..." Ash almost smiled, but not quite, and nodded quietly. However, Alin spied mischief glinting in her eyes.

A few minutes later, Ash and Alin set the table and served the food. It was a sizable spread of food too, mashed potatoes with a gravy boat nearby and plenty of butter, salad with a homemade balsamic vinaigrette dressing with all kinds of little, delicious add-ins, and finally a baked chicken with lemon-pepper and slices of actual lemons. As 221B Baker Street was a hazardous waste dump as always, Mrs. Hudson insisted that they all have dinner at her flat.

"This is quite good, dearies. Oh, I must say, this chicken- it is chicken, right?- I love it! I had something like this once before, my dear _Mr_. Hudson had made it. I nearly can't remember it, though that doesn't mean I'm senile, simply that its been such a long time since he's cooked for me... Poor, poor, foolish man..." The rest of the table politely listened, or didn't but kept their silence, and Alin answered her question at the first opening for her to speak.

"Actually, it is not- chicken, I mean."

"What is it then?" John asked, curiously. Alin looked at Ash and nudged her, breaking her from her bored-with-the-old-lady's-rambling stupor. She started and John repeated his question.

"Oh, it's owl. Alin makes it just so..." She gave a sort of smirk and took a bite to emphasize her point.

"Owl?" John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson asked in something closely resembling unison.

"Yes."

"I suppose there is a sort of significance to that, then. I wouldn't think that you would be one to enjoy trying such odd things..." Sherlock added on, almost quietly, not missing a chance to take a jab at Ash, no matter how subtly. Alin silently took note of this, as did Ash.

"In fact, yes," the raven-haired woman stated simply. She continued to eat as primly and properly as ever.

"Well then, what is it?" Sherlock asked impatiently, after Alin had not spoken any further for a minute or so.

"Since you've asked..." She rolled her eyes slightly, and there was a hint of an amused smile on her face as she looked towards Ash. Resting her head on her folded hands, the brunette smiled coyly as she locked gazes with Sherlock.

"Any man who eats roasted owl will be obedient and a slave to his wife," Ash said matter-of-factly.

Lestrade gasped and choked on his food, causing him to sputter and cough for a few moments. John blanched but said nothing. He knew that look in Ash's eyes- she was lying, about something, but her obvious relish in the idea (or perhaps their reactions) disturbed him nonetheless. He had forgotten how odd his god-sister would be. Mrs. Hudson at first expressed shock, but soon she realized that Ash wasn't serious and went back to her chatty self. Sherlock said nothing, but rested his hands, that still were holding onto his knife and fork, on the table and stared blankly at the food. He resumed eating a couple moments later, deciding that it wasn't such a great threat as he put no stock in superstitions other than motives of idiotic criminals... that and he wasn't married to Ash or Alin.

"Oh, deary me! For a second I thought you were serious!" She chuckled merrily and put a hand to her heart. "Oh, if only that were true, then maybe my husband and I would have gotten along better. But oh well."

Despite the strange superstition attached to their meal, Watson ate his meal in a matter of minutes and had second and third helpings. Mrs. Hudson finished her meal in more time than normal because she was rambling more than consuming food. Lestrade, thankful for a home-cooked meal (God knows how long it had been since his last one), ate each bite deliberately at first so as to savor the taste, but soon hunger overcame him, and he, too, soon left the table for seconds. Alin ate as she normally did, only partially listening to the conversation on Mrs. Hudson's end of the table. She was more focused on Ash, who didn't even seem to notice there was food in front of her. Even Sherlock ate more than his brunette counterpart, which neither Alin nor John failed to notice. The raven-haired young woman gently touched her friend's hand and murmured,

"Ash, you ought to eat at least a little something. Your body needs it. And besides, I won't be making anything later. This is all you've got to eat."

Ash jumped. She had been only partly conscious of her surroundings, just enough to catch the sounds around her without having to grasp their meaning. Blushing a little, she smiled sheepishly at Alin and asked,

"Sorry, come again? I was in the green glade."

"Ash, please eat." It was John who spoke this time. "You haven't touched a thing."

"Oh, yes, of course... Sorry about that. It's just.. I'm not hungry." At the looks on her friend's and god-brother's faces, she put her hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine! I'll eat."

"Thanks, Sugar Plum." John leaned over and kissed Ash on the forehead. Just because his god-sister was almost thirty didn't mean that he had to entirely stop treating her like a little girl.

"John, I'm rather curious," Mrs. Hudson turned to the blond, "as to why you call Ashton 'Sugar Plum'?"

John and Ash smiled. She looked at him and nodded, though a slight blush tinged her cheeks. Watson leaned back in his chair and said,

"When Ash was, what, five?"

"Four."

"Right. When she was four, our families went to go see the _Nutcracker_. After that, her dream was to become a Sugar Plum Fairy."

"You don't look like you have had ballet training."

"Hey, just because I'm not skin and bones doesn't mean I couldn't do it if I tried!" Ash cried. Then she averted her eyes and mumbled, "Well, probably..."

John gave Sherlock a dirty look and said, "No. She wanted to be an _actual_ fairy."

"To actually _be_ a fairy? But that is impossible. Fairies do not exist. They are figments of children's imaginations. Mere myths."

"You just killed a fairy," Ash sniffed. "I hope you're happy."

"Sherlock is right," Alin easily slipped into the argument, "Fairies do not exist, Fae on the other hand..."

Her eyes were blank as always, and _that_ paired with this topic of Fae and their courts usually unnerved people. Not that her eyes paired with most other topics, even the mundane, didn't unnerve people. Ash smiled at her friend. Alin always knew just what to say to cheer her up... even if it wasn't the right thing for everyone else. Ash sighed, half in contentment, half in suppressed sorrow. This was going to be a long, sleepless night. She hoped that the entertainment this dinner provided would make it all worth it.

)oOo(

"That can't be right," Ash murmured, her brows knitted in thought. Mrs. Hudson had needed to retire, so Sherlock, John, Alin, Lestrade, and even Ash had gone over to 221B. The artist and the world's only consulting detective were lying in their favorite thinking positions- Sherlock lounged on the couch (complete with two nicotine patches) while Ash curled up on an armchair, her feet hanging over one arm and her back resting on the other.

"It can't."

"The placement is wrong," Ash complained after a few more moments.

"Just too small," Sherlock interjected boredly.

"Hmm... A different position?"

"Perhaps..."

"Suppose I rotated it."

"Could work."

"The angles are confusing, though." Ash wrinkled up her nose in distaste. She hated angles of any sort. Sherlock huffed.

"A different sequence, then."

There was another pause. Suddenly, both of them jumped up from their respective thinking conditions and sprinted off in opposite directions, simultaneously shouting,

"That's it!"

Sherlock disappeared into his room with his usual flair, and Ash slammed the front door on her way out. Alin smirked at her friend's muffled, "Sorry!" while John sighed and shook his head. The two shared a knowing look. So dramatic. Mrs. Hudson smiled and sighed wistfully,

"They'd be so perfect for each other..."

"If they weren't married to their work," Lestrade added with something between an exasperated sigh and a chuckle.

"And how much are you willing to bet that they weren't even talking about the same thing?"

"I don't make bets that I know I'll lose," John replied with a slight smile. The expression faded soon, however, and was replaced with a pensive one. The blond knew that Ash's behaviour at dinner was a cover up. She never was coy like that normally, nor did she alternate between chatty and vacant so much. His god-sister was trying to suppress her dark thoughts for as long as possible by pretending she was anything but herself, like a child who acts hyper so that they won't have to take a nap. Watson resolved to keep an eye on her.

"How many people do you suppose are about to die?" Alin asked casually. Lestrade sat up, alarm clear on his features.

"What do you mean?"

Alin nodded toward the chair with a smirk. "That's her favorite thinking position for writing death scenes in her novels."

Lestrade's face lost a little of its color. With his new knowledge of Ash's past, he wasn't sure if he wanted to read any of her novels. He had read a few of her poems once. He had wondered how any soul could suffer such emotion and still maintain such a sunny disposition. Lestrade had hoped that perhaps those weren't her emotions, but it was clear now that at least some of them were hers. He wondered if there was anything he could do to help her or if she was as helpless as Sherlock.

John leaned over and picked up Ash's discarded sketchbook. Lestrade looked on as he slowly flipped through the pages and smiled at some of the drawings- he recognized several people he had seen at Thirteenth Hour. There were also several of Alin. In fact, most of the book was filled with her likeness, sometimes posed, other times in daily routine- playing the violin, sitting in her favourite chair, carving, stationed at the café... Ash had even managed to snatch a fleeting smile or twinkle in her friend's eye and preserve it on paper. A few were even in color, but most were simply in pencil. John chuckled,

"Lestrade, take a look!"

The silver-haired man blinked as he stared at... well, himself. Several of himself, actually- several small sketches followed by a more sophisticated one spread over two pages. Even the simplistic ones still captured his essence- yes, there were minor mistakes in a few of the sketches, but there was something there that was still unmistakeably him- the movement of his body, the look in his eyes. Ashton Hadley was a woman of great talent in her own right very much like Sherlock was a man of great talent in his field. However, both of them paid very dearly for it whether they acknowledged it or not. For Sherlock, it seemed to be worth it, and Ash seemed not to mind so much, either, but Lestrade knew that he wouldn't have been able to bear such a burden, even if he did have immeasurable talent. He flipped the page and commented,

"She's got you down pat, too, John."

"So she has..." Watson smiled until he realized- "Hey, wait a second! The bags under my eyes aren't _that_ big! And there can't be _two_ sets of bags! No one has _two_ sets of bags under their eyes! Do they...?"

"Of course it is possible, after all, Ash tends to refrain from embellishing in her drawings of people... unless, of course, we are speaking of the clothes they wear sometimes. Those are always interesting." Alin spoke, besmirked, as she stood against the door frame that just so happened to be nearby; prime real estate for aloof and nonchalant leaning, it was.

Lestrade turned the page, and both gentlemen stared. Various sketches of Sherlock filled the next five pages. Copious notes and comments littered the margins, saying things like, _Stupid,__dark,__curly__hair!__Why__must__you__be__so__darn__hard__to__draw!_and _cheekbones!_(complete with little hearts and several arrows pointing to the highlights and shadows formed by the detective's prominent cheekbones). Some were more practical, but most were random side comments, a few not even having to do anything with the drawings themselves but of the subject, such as _What__an__irksome__little__smirk-__he__doesn__'__t__know__as__much__as__he__thinks__he__knows.__Idiot_.

"Goodness, gracious, Ash," John mused, "If I didn't know you well enough, I'd start to think things about you.."

"She's right about that smirk, though," Lestrade commented. "I sometimes wish I could backhand that thing off his smug face."

The doctor chuckled in agreement. They talked aimlessly for a while, simply enjoying each other's company and the opportunity to relax. After a while, Lestrade bid Alin and John good night and left the flat. Alin, too, decided to retire. John handed her the sketchbook treating it as tenderly as he would a newborn babe.


	12. Chapter XI

_**Disclaimer:** We don't own Sherlock, BBC or Otherwise... this is just product of our Imagination that we have decided to share with whoever wants to read this. Feel free to flame but if you do please flame appropriately, no bad grammar or superfluous cussing and actually have a problem with it (who knows, it might be fixed- especially if you find a typo or any bad grammar, we hate those just as much as you do), don't flame just to flame…save yourself the time and embarrassment please. Thank you. - Bleeding Crimson Editor_

Chapter Eleven

Sherlock had not come back after that until late at night, and then, only to sleep for a few hours and head out again before anyone really woke up. Ash had come back perhaps an hour or so after the two had left carrying an armful of supplies; paper -some with text or pictures on them, some blank- pens, some paints, and a small box of charcoal. Alin had only but briefly seen her rush through and on up to her room before she had locked herself in, completely engrossed in whatever it was. This, being a normal occurrence, did not worry Alin like it had Mrs. Hudson.

"Do no fret; she is fine. She does this sort of thing to de-stress. She's in her own little world for days at a time sometimes." Alin said calmly around her steaming cup of tea as she watched Mrs. Hudson bake and worry the towel she held in her hands.

"Alright, if you say she's fine. You've known her longer than me. Though I must say, I wish I knew her longer; she seems like such a dear. Such an unfortunate thing that befell you two, simply horrible. And you say that it was because you helped Sherlock in this case? Unfortunate, very, _very_ unfortunate..." She continued to ramble, and Alin smiled a little in amusement at the woman.

"Yes, yes, she is fine-" Just as she began reassuring the concerned old woman they heard a very loud and grating noise. From up above the kitchen, Ash's room...

"Oh, so she's rearranging the furniture now, is she?" Alin near-murmured to herself.

"She's what?"

"Rearranging the furniture. She does that every so often. It usually means that whatever she's working on is large." _Scriiiiitch!_ "Quite large indeed." Alin took a sip from her tea and offered no more to the older woman. Mrs. Hudson checked the oven once more and smiled a little; the scones were done. Vanilla bean with a butter-sugar glaze, as requested by Alin.

Finishing her drink Alin rose saying, "Mrs. Hudson, would you like me to get you anything from the store? I was planning on going for a bit of something myself so if you would write a list of anything you need..."

"Oh, thank you deary, so very kind of you. Just give me a moment... and here you are." Alin smiled and took the paper then grimaced lightly at how long the list actually was. She turned and left for the store, waving at Mrs. Hudson without looking back.

)oOo(

This was officially the weirdest day ever- almost nearly the worst, too. Alin would attest to that fact.

First, the list that Mrs. Hudson had written up was very... _extensive_. The paper had only been a somewhat-large post-it note and it had taken less than a minute to write. There were 27 things on it, most of it heavy. Nevermind, 28, there was a miscount for a second there. Plus the few things that Alin had needed before, like her favorite soaps and lotions. In fact, she could feel some dread building up in the pit of her stomach. She would spend a few extra pounds and get enough for a nice soak once she got back. The sinking feeling told her she would need it.

Alin was walking along, despairing at such a list but all the while trying to optimistic- however her optimism-producing thyroids were sorely out of practice and as a result dreadfully dusty and shrivelled from disuse. As she was concentrating she slipped and landed face-down, a beautiful 9.5 face-plant. Rolling herself over and groaning, mildly glad at having not hit her head on the hard concrete, she looked at what had tripped her up. A banana peel. Her face completely blanked. _Really,__a__banana__peel,__how__cliche__is__that?__Absolutely__moronic,__and__the__worst__part,__I__have__a__bad__feeling__that__this__day__is__not__going__to__be__getting__any__better..._

She pulled herself up onto her feet with a nearby wall only to hear giggling coming from behind her. She turned and saw a group of girls about her age, perhaps a year or two younger by their clothing, and she smiled a bit, a little embarrassed that anyone had seen her slip on something so weird.

"Hello..." She scratched the back of her head and bowed a bit, a force of habit from the cafe, and made to continue walking. However, the giggling didn't stop or die down as she walked, and Alin stopped and cocked her head to the side in confusion. The giggling increased. She looked over her shoulder only to see the same group of girls. By this time she had walked about a block- they were following her.

"Yes? Is there anything that I might do to assist you?" In public, Alin tended to speak more formally, yet another habit from the bookstore and cafe. The giggling increased yet again in pitch and volume. The girls huddled together as they laughed. Alin, not having many girl friends besides Ash and others like her, was understandably confused; and so, she tilted her head a slight bit ever so much more.

"Yeah, if you wouldn't mind. We're lost here, London is soooo big!" They were Americans, it seemed. The one who spoke had been prodded forward by the other three. She was blonde with blue eyes and a little taller than the others. It looked to Alin like she was the leader of the group.

"Hn? Alright, where is it you need to be?"

"Oh you know..." She twirled a lock of hair as she glanced at Alin from the corner of her eye.

"No, not particularly... Perhaps you are sight-seeing, then? The nearest place that I can think of would be Big Ben, the clock tower. Its a bit that-a-way, yes?" She pointed in the general direction. At least they weren't giggling so loudly; that was starting to make her head hurt.

"Yeah. Oh! do you know anywhere to eat? Maybe I could take you to lunch as a thank you..." She raised her eyebrows, looking a little more hopeful than Alin might have thought at hearing that where you might want to go is blocks away.

"Actually, there is a place near here that serves great food- Oh, wait, not open today. I'm sorry, it seems that I am a little out of it. There is a cafe called Belladonna's Brews across the way- I usually work there with another... But we are closed today, unhappy events recently, but anyway! A little further down the street is another cafe, French, actually. However, I must be off. I need to get Mrs. Hudson's groceries for her."

"Aww! So sweet of you!" They all said, more or less, in unison.

"Not really, I needed a few things also." She shrugged, "Good-bye, I must be off. Cheerio!"

She doffed her hat and chuckled, glad to be out of the mess. She had a niggling feeling in the back of her mind that they might have thought her a guy. This thought somewhat dampened her mood. Not that it was very high in the first place.

A headache pounded in her temples from the girls' high-pitched giggling, and she thought once more on the long list Mrs. Hudson had given her. Really, the only thing that was keeping her going was the promise of a hot bath and a long, relaxing soak. She really needed one after those past couple days. She had to be strong for Ash and the rest of them, but she wasn't sure what she would do. The bookstore and cafe only earned so much money, and she wasn't looking forward to battling out with her insurance to get them to pay her the money to rebuild her house. And there were many things that she would never be able to replace, like priceless family heirlooms.

And so she repeated in her head, _A__hot__bath__is__waiting__for__me,__a__hot__bath__is__waiting__for__me,__a__hot__bath__is__waiting__for__me,__a__hot__bath__is__waiting__for__me..._

Alin zoned out for the rest of the journey, used to the path to the store from Belladonna's Brews and The Thirteenth Hour. She took a wrong turn, staring at a grotesque on a building that she had never noticed before, and ended up in a meeting of some kind. Many pairs of eyes locked in on her in complete and utter silence. She chuckled a bit, embarrassed, and made to back out.

"Oh, I am so sorry, I took a wrong turn and ended up here. I will be on my way now. Heh."

"Oh, no, no! Stay! We were just about to begin! We're your biggest fans!"

"Wha- fans?"

"Yes, we're your fan club!" The woman dragged her to the opposite side of the room onto a podium, and she stood at a pulpit of sorts and spoke.

"Well, since we're all here, we'll begin. And not only that, but we have Alin Semloh-sama here to take part." There was a great cheering, and Alin was well on her way to learning what true fear was.

"I am almost afraid to ask, but, _sama_?"

"It means someone of higher status!" The woman, most likely president of the club, exclaimed proudly.

"Alright then..." She shifted uncomfortably until she was shocked still by the sight of a flag... with her face on it. Her sleeping face.

They all turned to the flag and began reciting:

"_I pledge allegiance to our honored and beloved Alin, _

_Whom we trust with our hearts and our minds."_

Alin, thoroughly creeped out, began sneaking towards the window that they were all facing away from. Perhaps she could make a break for it without them noticing.

"_I promise never to forsake him_

_Nor shall I abandon him in a time of need."_

Just a little more- there! Alin had jiggled the window open without much noise and started to open it slowly, afraid that it might make a noise alerting the crazies around her.

"_And in the name of our idol and true love_

_We promise our loyalty to him and our sisters under his rule._

_Ah-man."_

_Criiick!_ The window had opened just enough for Alin to get herself half-way out when the window creaked _loudly_. All the women in the room snapped their heads toward the noise, looking, for lack of a better simile, like sharks just getting the scent of blood. Alin's eyes opened wide in panic and terror, and she flung herself out the rest of the way, just barely making it out in time. She ran the rest of the way to the store, and when she got there hid behind a pile of cans, just in case.

A minute or so of diligent and near-obsessive scanning of her surroundings and coming up with nothing put her back at ease. However, as soon as she had relaxed her posture and breathed in deeply, a large man pushed his way through her even though there had easily been enough room for him to go around, and she fell onto the cans, scattering them around the floor. Not for the first time that day, she held her head and groaned, getting up only to come face to face with an angry employee.

"I promise it wasn't me!" The employee looked mad enough to punch her, or throw her out, so she ran away while yelling back, "I was pushed, _framed_, I tell you!" Turning a corner she got the list out and began wearily filling her arms with items requested. She had to get a cart only a few minutes in.

)oOo(

Alin stopped and looked around her. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing up, and she had that eerie feeling that someone was watching her. She spun around and brandished a can of pickled plums ready to defend herself if need be.

"Oh, it is you! I thought- I was sure that- I need you back, dear!" A man came hurtling at her, grabbing her into the tightest hug she had ever had. Her arms were pinned at her sides, useless.

"Sir, I do not know who you are. I have never seen you before in my life. I am sorry, but put me down."

"What, no," He sunk to the linoleum flooring of the store, utterly heartbroken, "But, you know me, Alanna. We were married, and I don't know why you left me. Please come back- I love you!"

"Sir, I do not know you." She pushed her cart away, much too exhausted to manage to care at this point.

"But, but-"

He crawled behind her on his knees, his hands lifted toward her as if praying. He was nearly as tall as her waist when he was on his knees, and Alin was not particularly short in any case. He had spiky black hair and some stubble on his chin that served as his beard. He was muscular and looked like he would be a good fighter... well, except for him practically crying on the floor and shuffling after her.

"Sir, this is embarrassing. Please leave me be." Alin sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Others had started to look and see what all the commotion was. Alin tried to ignore it.

"I love you! Please, won't you come back? Heracles misses you, and so does your son!" That made Alin pause, _How__sad,__that__someone__would__abandon__this__man__who__obviously__loves__her.__Though__I__am__not__the__one__that__he__looks__for,__so...__he__must__keep__looking._

"Sir, I am not your wife. I do not have a son. I do not have a dog or a cat or a bird or whatever Heracles is. I am shopping for my landlord. Please, leave me in peace. If I must, I will hit you if you continue to follow me!"

"Now I know you're my dear, beloved Alanna. That is just the sort of thing she would do!" He exclaimed, jumping to his feet and he embraced her again, though this time Alin could feel the man's love for who he presumed her to be. It was awkward, worse than the fan club. At least then she was more freaked out and didn't feel guilty for something she didn't do!

"Sir, put me down," she wiggled out of his grasp, "My name is Alin Semloh, I work at Belladonna's Brews, and I have never seen you before in my life. You are not my type, either, and I am not the type who would abandon anyone. Excuse me; I need to check out and get these things back to my loft."

The man, sat there, slightly stunned before following her like a lost puppy, sad and silent except for some small, pitiful whines, but not giving up on his affection for the one who hurt him. Alin ignored him to the best of her abilities and went to the self-checkout in the hopes it would be faster.

_Beep.__Beep.__Beep.__Beeeep!__Beeeep!_ "Why won't this scan?" Alin asked herself. It was the last item, a gallon of milk. Of course it was; she's heard stories from John about how he and Sherlock had a thing for milk. It always being a hassle to get, or they were always out. _I__blame__you,__Sherlock,__I__blame__you!_ Inwardly she shook her fist at the sky and cursed the man's very existence; John's, too, by this point.

Alin looked at her bags- there were a lot, but the man had left. She breathed a sigh of relief. _Thank__the__Lord!__Hopefully__I__will__see__neither__hide__nor__hair__of__him__ever__again,__even__if__I__do__feel__sorry__for__him._

Balancing the bags on her arms and in her hands was a very precarious act. As her car had also been burned in the fire, and it was against the law to take a shopping cart from a store's area, she didn't have much of a choice otherwise. The bags were unevenly placed on her arms, so there were times where she had to stop, unload all the bags and rearrange them. Other times she simply had to stop and rest and give her skin a break from the biting plastic. But, she should have known, it wasn't over yet. Of course it wouldn't be bloody over yet!

Out of the blue, a window shattered right in front of her. A man dressed in all black with a fabric mask covering everything but his eyes and another dressed in armor and a scary, porcelain mask- both were holding long Japanese swords and fighting furiously, knocking her to the ground as they flew by, scattering her bags and ripping the plastic handles on at least three of them.

Immediately they stopped, as if frozen, and began apologizing profusely. They helped her pick up her bags and tied the few the ripped together, into a... something that she could throw over her shoulders so that one bag was on her back and the other lay on her front. There were two such contraptions, and they actually helped lighten the load on her forearms. She thanked them in a disbelieving whisper, and as soon as she had finished the two began to duke it out once more, obviously intending to kill each other.

"But this is _London_!" she exclaimed once she found her voice after watching the two warriors dart off-screen. "A ninja and a samurai. Really, world, really? What did I do to deserve this?" She almost-yelled to the sky, a hysteric grin on her face and a bit of moisture gathering in her eyes.

"I can't think of anything! Oh, don't tell me! I was, in a past life, that butterfly whose wings produced a hurricane half-way across the world! I hope it hit your dojos!" By now a tear had escaped and she began repeating her mantra.

_A hot bath is waiting for me, a hot bath is waiting for me, a hot bath is waiting for me, a hot bath is waiting for me..._

)oOo(

And finally, just as she was sure that she would collapse from exhaustion, Alin reached Baker street. She could see 221! Oh happy day! Alin nearly ran the rest of the way, or as much as she could run with all those bags all the way down the street, almost singing she was so happy it was all done and over with.

She plopped all of Mrs. Hudson's groceries down on the table in the kitchen, not caring enough at the moment to put anything away or do anything other than take her one bag and rush to the bathroom upstairs.

Alin let the water run, her excitement building each passing second. She would finally be able to relax a bit! Mixing a nice face masque (with honey, almond oil, egg yolk, and a bit of yoghurt) and taking out her favorite brand of pomegranate shampoo, conditioner, body wash and lotion, she was all set. She even lit a couple a candles and put them around the tub and on the sink.

"All right, all set. All that's left is some calming music. She set her iPhone into the speakers she had set in there before she left and pressed play. A playlist of Mozart and Beethoven and all sorts of other classical composers, along with a couple modern ones scattered throughout, filled the air.

"Ah..." She sighed contentedly, the tub had finished filling up and she put one foot in, planning on putting the mask on in a few minutes.

"Alin! Where's Ash?"

Sherlock had burst into the room. Alin was wearing only a towel, and one leg was in the water. Alin said nothing, only stared at Sherlock, who seemed completely unaware of her current situation.

"What do you mean, 'Where's Ash?'" Alin growled, low in her throat.

"She's been kidnapped, then, if you don't know. The killer took her as his next victim..." He paused and looked around, eying the small, white towel around Alin's head. "Were you doing something?"

Alin, once more, said nothing, only putting her index finger up to indicate that he should wait a little. She pushed Sherlock out of the bathroom and quickly changed back into her clothes, this time not caring one whit about how she looked. Glaring, she opened the door and stormed out of the bathroom, passed Sherlock in the hall and into Mrs. Hudson's living room where she sat on the couch and grabbed the nearest pillow. Shoving it into her face she screamed profanity after profanity, cursing life, karma, the butterfly effect, reincarnation, Sherlock, men at the grocery store, fan clubs, bat-shit insane serial murderers, and Jackdaws, because that's what started this all. It was rather creative, if Sherlock might say so himself.

After five or so minutes of this, Sherlock became bored, as he was wont to do, and pulled her up only to have her cuss at him. He had never seen Alin with much emotion at all, let alone passionately letting them out.

"I think, Ms. Semloh, that we should save Ash, yes?" He raised an eyebrow, and she quieted immediately, running to her room, grabbing her coat and palming some brass knuckles that were (illegal but) better than nothing.

"Alright, let's go. Where's John?"

"Getting Lestrade." They ran out the door onto the street where a strange sight greeted them. A man, on his knees, holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

"Alanna, or Alin, whatever you go by now, please come back! I love you will all my heart, soul and being. I am lost without you!" Then he noticed Sherlock, and it seemed that he couldn't decide whether to be enraged or depressed by the sight of his so-called love rushing somewhere with another man.

Alin grabbed Sherlock's arm and ran once more, pulling him along as best she could. Soon, he stopped them in front of an older warehouse to the east of Westminster and North of the Thames near the St. Katharine Docks.

"So, who was that?" He smirked a bit. It was an unnecessary question; he could tell who it was by just looking at him, though it didn't fully explain why he had confessed love to Alin- or rather, Alanna.

"He thinks I'm someone else. Let's leave it at that." He nodded, though intended to think on it later. At this point, Ash's life was in danger, and there were other, more interesting, things to think on.


	13. Chapter XII

_**Disclaimer:** We don't own Sherlock, BBC or Otherwise... this is just product of our Imagination that we have decided to share with whoever wants to read this. Feel free to flame but if you do please flame appropriately, no bad grammar or superfluous cussing and actually have a problem with it (who knows, it might be fixed- especially if you find a typo or any bad grammar, we hate those just as much as you do), don't flame just to flame…save yourself the time and embarrassment please. Thank you. - Bleeding Crimson Editor_

Chapter Twelve

Ash awoke to a blazing pain in the back of her skull. Other places on her body throbbed dully, but they were no comparison to her headache. She tried to assess herself as Uncle had taught her. Her arms wouldn't move- they were too heavy, or perhaps, held down by something... The brunette realized she was sitting, but why would she be unable to move? Her thoughts were aggravatingly sluggish. She tried to curl her fingers and felt rope bite into her skin. So she was tied up. Now _there_was a piece of information that made sense. However, her wrists were tied to the sides of the chair so that her arms were vertical instead of them being together behind her. Strange. Ash would have tried to determine why she was in such an odd position had she been able to think clearly. Grimacing slightly, she gritted her teeth to stave off the pain. Why on earth did her head-

And then she remembered. The man who had been a regular since she had started working at Thirteenth Hour- the one who had always been so kind and gentle- snuck into her room as she was working on her project. God knows how he unlocked the window without her hearing it. She had barely time to register there was another person there before he knocked her out and carried her off to goodness knows where.

_No,__that__'__s__not__true.__You__know__where__this__is,__and__so__does__Sherlock.__He__has__to.__The__pattern__was__unmistakable._

"I suppose I didn't hit you hard enough, did I? I apologize. I'd hate to cause you pain," her captor said, bringing Ash out of her thoughts. There was no trace of sarcasm or lie in his voice. "You can open your eyes if you like, Miss Hadley. I promise I won't gouge them out or anything _barbaric_like that."

Slowly Ash did as she was told, though she was in so much pain that she wouldn't have done it if she thought she had a choice. She knew that she didn't. She also knew that she shouldn't ask her next question, but her conscience demanded that she ask it anyway. Breathing in deeply, she queried,

"Why are you doing this, Mr. Reynolds?"

"You wouldn't understand." His voice was cold and hard, but Ash sensed the pain in it, too. She had been around too much heartache not to hear it.

"This is _wrong_."

"The only wrong thing," he replied, his words measured carefully, "is that I didn't go through with all this sooner."

He knelt down next to Ash, who flinched at his proximity. She was in trouble now; she knew it as soon as she saw anger glint in his eyes, like harsh sunlight off a dagger. He gripped her chin savagely so he could get a better look at the woman's face. Ash winced at his touch but said nothing. Perhaps she could stall him until John and the others came. They had to come. _He_ had to come. There was no way she could do all that and then just die here.

"You have her eyes, you know that? You have her lips and her hair, too. But you're not her. You'll _never_compare to her!" Slowly that manic gleam in his eye worked its way to his smile and his voice. He laughed unsteadily, and Ash wondered how long it would be before he completely lost it. "I'll remedy that. I'll bring her back, and she can live in your body. It's a little young, perhaps, but it won't matter. She'll understand everything because she's always understood. You're just too stupid to even begin to comprehend what she means to me!"

The man drew a dagger and raised it tauntingly, only making his peculiar smile and the slightly crazed look in his eyes even more prominent.

"Don't worry. This won't hurt for too long." He proceeded to slit her forearms from the inside of her elbows to her wrists. White hot pain nearly blinded her for a moment as the blade sliced her tender flesh. She tried to calm herself by breathing slowly, but her lungs refused to cooperate, leaving her gasping and choking as she felt her life's blood trickle slowly down her torn skin and _drip,__drip,__drip_ into small wooden bowls that had been placed under her fingers. At least she now understood why she had been tied up in such an odd manner. That was one of life's mysteries solved. She briefly wondered how many more she would be able to solve before the blood ran dry.

The thought frightened her, so she retreated into herself as she always did when things went wrong, occupying her mind with nonsensical things so that the pain would burn bright behind her eyelids and wouldn't sting so fiercely underneath her skin. The pain was an all-encompassing thing. It seeped into her bones and from there went straight to her heart like an arrow. She felt much too aware of her heart's faint, frenetic beating like a frightened, wounded bird in a cage; much too aware of the blood being slowly circulated throughout her body and out her arms. She could ignore it, almost, until the man spoke and brought her forcefully, painfully, back to reality and her impending death.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way, but as the French might say, _c__'__est__la__vie_. Such is life." He watched her with a sort of smile that showed her that he wasn't completely in this reality. It chilled her to the core, knowing that he held no remorse for what he had done, no regard for anyone but his wife whom he pined for even long after her death. She did the best to keep her fear from her eyes, but knew she was not successful, so she retreated once more, hoping, _praying_, that someone would come in time. Doubts crept up on her and clawed hold of her heart.

_They__will__come,_ she insisted to the monster that attacked her from within. _They_will _come.__They__promised._

)oOo(

Lestrade and John arrived at the old warehouse just as Sherlock and Alin did. They rushed in at once and decided to spread out, Sherlock with Lestrade and Alin with John. The interior was larger than they had anticipated, with all sorts of crates and boxes forming a dark, complicated maze. The latter pair hadn't gone far when they heard a muffled groan of agony pierce the still, oppressive atmosphere. It was barely audible, but the pair heard it nonetheless.

_Ash._

John ran as fast as he could toward the sound. Whoever had dared lay hand on his god-sister would pay dearly for it. He would personally see to that. After several wrong turns and dead ends, they finally reached the clearing where the criminal had drawn out his deadly alchemy circle for the last time. Upon seeing Watson and Alin, he stood up angrily and brandished a gun, but before he could pull the trigger, Lestrade tackled him to the ground as Sherlock picked up the dropped gun with a handkerchief. He had already taken care of the knife; they would need this evidence, though being caught red-handed wouldn't do the man's defence much good. The old man tried to wriggle out of the DI's grasp, but it was no use. He was pinned down. After a second of stunned silence, John cried,

"Ash!"

He rushed to Ash's prone form. Alin remained frozen in her tracks, staring at her best friend gasping for air like a dying fish and lying in the center of an all too familiar circle that had been written with her own blood. The dark-haired woman felt like the air had been sucked right out of her, and for a second she was scared for her own life. She momentarily thought that perhaps it might be nice to not have to live without her dearest friend. Alin shook the morbid idea off. Ash wouldn't die this day, and neither would she!

Watson had immediately launched into army doctor mode- he could deal with his emotions after he saved his god-sister. He spoke quickly and quietly to himself, assessing Ash's injuries He stripped his jumper and shirt and used them to staunch the blood still flowing from her arms. Ash inhaled sharply but did not cry out. The pain was too much for vocalizing, too much for crying. She opened her eyes and flashed an unconvincing smile. Alin, who had finally found the strength to approach, listened the best she could but only comprehended some of the medical jargon the doctor was spouting off.

"The cephalic vein, lateral antebrachial cutaneous nerve, median cubital vein, and median antiebrachial vein have all been severed at least once in each arms, same as the rest of the victims..."

"Don't worry- everything will be okay," Ash rasped.

"Ash, don't talk!" John ordered without looking up. He winced at his tone and sighed apologetically. "I'm sorry, Sugar Plum. The medics are on their way. Just hold on; they'll be here soon."

"Johnny, I'm not going to make it..." she said softly.

"Don't talk like that, Ash!" Alin snapped. "You can't die on me! I need you! You're all I've got!" Ash sighed sadly, tears welling in her eyes. Her voice was weaker, and the words began to slur.

"I'm so sorry, Alin. I... I should've been more careful... in m' notebook, on th' last page... letter... for you... all... Read 't... _Please_... for me..." She gasped, each word a monumental effort. "I love you, Alin, Johnny..."

Her breathing slowed. It took a while, painfully long, it seemed to Alin and John, who could do nothing but watch and wait, praying that the medics would come in time; then, it stopped altogether. Watson began working overtime, trying to find a pulse, a breath, any sign of life still left.

"Ash. _Ash!_"

Alin gritted her teeth. Where was the ambulance? Watson was doing all he could, but even he couldn't save her alone.

_How__pathetic__am__I?__I__love__this__girl__as__if__she__were__my__sister,__yet__all__I__can__do__is__look__at__her__as__she__dies.__I__can__'__t__speak.__I__can__'__t__cry.__I__can__'__t__even__feel__anything.__Perhaps__it__'__s__like__drowning-__you__don__'__t__know__which__way__is__up__or__down__and__everywhere__you__look,__in__that__huge__sea__of__despair,__is__at__your__own__two__hands,__doing__their__best__to__claw__their__way__to__the__surface.__But,__eventually,__you__run__out__of__energy.__Eventually,__it__becomes__less__overwhelming__,and__you__accept__it.__Eventually,__you__simply__stop__fighting__it__and__let__yourself__float__away,__pulled__by__the__currents.__And__eventually,__you__die.__Look__at__me._

Her stoic mask remained in place; she was in too much shock to remove it just yet. This couldn't be happening. It was too surreal, too insane to be true.

_How pathetic am I... how pathetic that I can't even weep for my dearest friend at her death, that I can't be strong enough to let the only true friend I have on this earth, know that I love her for it... _

She looked over at Watson, who brushed a lock of hair from Ash's face and kissed her forehead.

"Good-night, Sugar Plum. Sweet dreams."


	14. Chapter XIII

_**Disclaimer:** We don't own Sherlock, BBC or Otherwise... this is just product of our Imagination that we have decided to share with whoever wants to read this. Feel free to flame but if you do please flame appropriately, no bad grammar or superfluous cussing and actually have a problem with it (who knows, it might be fixed- especially if you find a typo or any bad grammar, we hate those just as much as you do), don't flame just to flame…save yourself the time and embarrassment please. Thank you. - Bleeding Crimson Editor_

Chapter Thirteen

Watson and Alin sat in shock as Scotland Yard swarmed the place, slinging bright yellow tape around the entrance and anywhere else of importance like Spider-Man and his webs. After some subordinates led Mr. Reynolds away, Lestrade slowly walked over to the pair and laid a comforting hand on John's shoulder. The men shared a long look, understanding passing wordlessly between them. The silver-haired man then gently took Alin by the arm and tried to help her stand. When she wouldn't move, he coaxed quietly,

"Alin, let's go."

Numbly she let him lead her away, staring ahead but not seeing anything except the men in police uniform slowly slip a sheet over Ash's still face.

)oOo(

A few days later, John and Alin agreed it was time to read Ash's goodbye letter. The truth was, they never really wanted to open it because that would be acknowledging that she was gone. But they couldn't ignore Ash's last wish. That would have been blasphemy. So they sat down together along with Lestrade, Sherlock, and Mrs. Hudson, and John read the letter aloud.

_Dearest friends,_

_I__dreamt__last__night__that__I__fell__face-first__into__a__puddle__of__muddy__water.__Alin__could__tell__you__that__dreaming__of__muddy__water__is__an__omen__forewarning__death.__When__I__woke__up__this__morning,__I__couldn__'__t__help__but__wonder__if__it__was__a__sign.__I__doubt__it.__That__'__s__just__silly.__However,__since__I__am__preoccupied__with__death__-as__John__and__Alin__very__well__know-__I__have__decided__to__write__you__a__letter__in__case__anything__happens.__I__mean,__we_are_investigating__a__man__who__has__been__ruthlessly__killing__women__my__age__and__description.__It__'__s__not__a__far__reach__to__say__that__Alin__and__I__could__both__possibly__be__victims.__I__hope__that__I__'__m__not__correct__in__my__assumptions,__though..._

_Anyway, if anything happens, Sherlock, you get all my investigation papers (like you'll even have the patience to read through this). Not that they will be of any use to you anymore, as there will only be one more murder. I'm sure you know this. If you don't want them, I'm sure that Lestrade will find them useful. I also bequeath any research that you might find entertaining. I know I lost most of it in the fire, but I do have some files on my computer that may be of interest to you. I can't recall them at the moment, but if you see any you like, take them. Just not the computer or memory stick themselves. Those are not yours nor will they ever be. Those are for Alin and Uncle. Now, I know that you're a "sociopath" and all, but do try to keep Uncle from dying. You can do whatever you want with yourself as long as he doesn't die. _

_As for Lestrade, I know that I don't know you that well, but please keep an eye on Uncle. I'd appreciate that. But make sure to take breaks, too. You of all people deserve a little time for yourself. If you're the kind of guy who likes to read (I imagine you are, though if I am wrong, forgive me), you can have any book in the store for free. Your pick. _

_Mrs. Hudson- thank you for letting Alin and I stay at your place and for all the lovely food. I'm sorry I didn't spend more time with you. Forgive me. You, too, can have any book you want from our store free. Please don't let Uncle (or Sherlock, I suppose) starve himself. I know you are not their housekeeper, but a little something every once in a while would be greatly appreciated, especially when Uncle finally gets off his butt and gets a girlfriend._

_Uncle Dearest... what can I say that I haven't already said? How can I vocalize what cannot be put into words? You are the most incredible brother I could have asked for. I'm so sorry for all the times I was difficult, especially about going into the army. You were always so good to me, even when I didn't deserve it. You still are. _

_Most of the material things I'd want to leave you have been destroyed in the fire, but we both know that memories have always been the most precious things we've shared. You never have to pay for a book again if you so wish, but I know that you won't take up that offer, so at least take back some copies of my own stuff. I won't be profiting off that money anymore. There are a couple poems that I dedicated to you. I hope you like them. _

_You are the most important man in my life- we all know that I'd never fall in love with anyone. Whatever granule of affection Mrs. Hudson mistakenly saw between Sherlock and me will never become anything more. Please take care of Alin. I know that she'll be crushed by this. I'd hate for anything to happen to her without me there. She's even less of a people person than I am. Please let her come over once in a while, or stop by the store... _

_Thank__you__so__much.__For__everything.__You__'__re...__I__could__never__say__all__you__are,__all_we_are.__So__I__guess__I__'__ll__leave__it__at__this-__You__'__ve__always__been__and__always__will__be__my__brave,__gentle__hero.__I__love__you__more__than__I__could__ever__say,__Johnny._

_And finally, _

_My Dearest Alin... Again, there are no words that could accurately describe our bond. You're the best friend I'd always wanted but never imagined I'd ever have. You're so radically different than what I thought a best friend would be like, but you're perfect as you are. Thank you for taking me in and caring for me even with all my quirks and habits and moods. You and Uncle ought to be saints, or knights at the very least. You two are the only ones that ever seem to keep me from accidentally starving myself to death or suffocating myself in my little lair. _

_Whatever__happens__to__me,__don__'__t__blame__yourself.__That__goes__for__Uncle,__too.__None__of__it__is__your__fault.__It__only__rests__on__the__head__of__the__one__who__kills__me.__Alin,__don__'__t__beat__yourself__to__death__over__this.__Please,__please,_please_move__on.__I__'__m__not__saying__right__away.__Of__course__you__'__ll__mourn.__We__'__re__best__friends.__But__you__'__ll__need__to__let__go__eventually.__Take__care__of__the__store.__Keep__on__carving.__Visit__Uncle__once__in__a__while__to__make__sure__he__'__s__not__overdoing__it.__He__'__ll__be__lonely__without__me,__and__I__know__that__having__you__around__will__help.__It__'__ll__hurt__of__course.__Losing__people__you__love__always__hurts,__not__as__much__at__first__as__it__does__a__few__months__later__when__it__finally__sinks__in.__But__please,__make__a__life__for__yourself__even__if__I__don__'__t__have__mine.__You__'__re__like__a__sister__to__me,__Alin.__I__love__you__so__much._

_Everyone, I'm sure I've said this a thousand times already, but take care of each other. Live. Laugh. Love. Thanks for everything. It's been a fun ride._

_Love and Hugs,_

_Ashton Briar Hadley_

Tears streamed down John's cheeks, and his voice quavered with emotion. Ash was gone. Moreover, she had expected to be gone. Why did it have to be her? Why couldn't he have taken the fall instead? Hadn't he sworn to protect her at all cost?

Alin sat in silence and her eyes leaked uncomfortably. She was always rubbish at showing emotion, but somehow Ash could always figure out what she was trying to say. They had been like sisters, even though they had only lived together for such a short period of time in the grand scheme of things. But then again, what did the grand scheme of things matter anyhow? Ash was dead, not much made a difference anymore. Things just didn't... make sense. Life wasn't colorful, it wasn't worth much, it seemed now that she was gone.

Alin continued to sit, even while the others conversed and reminisced in small voices around her, trying to throw her a lifeline into the land of the living every now and then but she wasn't much interested in their attempts at the moment. Alin picked up the letter again, to look at her best friend's handwriting one last time. She knew she wouldn't have the strength to face the hurt again so she best do it now. Alin was sure, in the back of her mind, that she was doomed to be one of those people whose hearts grow hard and cold. Perhaps it was fate, after all, it was to be her lot even before Ash entered her life. But she had thought, for just those few months, that it might not have to be that way.

Another letter fell out, addressed to Alin and John only and was much shorter than the other.

_Dear Alin and John, _

_ If you are reading this than that means that I, regretfully, have passed on. Sorry about that. I love you two, know that. Please, don't go to the trouble of buying something all formal and stiff to wear at the funeral. If you must dress me up, use something I already have... that bow tie I stole from John on the night of his first school dance is quite nice. And I would prefer for my remains to be buried without a coffin, just a hole in the ground, with a cherry tree sapling, or something of the sort, planted on top. Think of it this way- of death comes life, and of decaying continues life. I think that it would be nice, instead of a grave to visit you can see the flowers in the spring and the branches in the winter and all the while know that I'm smiling and watching you, proud of my two most precious people. I love you. Please be happy._

_Ash_

_Author's Note: Stay tuned! Next time on Superstitions: Epilogue! Oh, and review please, we love reviews! Co Author is CrazyCousinEiko, go check out her stuff- it rocks awesomely and I helped write a bit of it. Sooo… yeah. _


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